Loved and Lost
by theturtlemoves
Summary: Hestia Jones was from a wellrespected pureblood family. In certain circles of society, it was expected that she would soon become Mrs Lucius Malfoy. Only a few knew where her true loyalties lay, and only one could save her from her careful lies.
1. Deception

Summary: She'd let her heart be broken once before, and she'd be damned if he was getting a second shot at it. He'd made a bad choice back in his past, but at the time it had seemed so right. This is the story of Hestia Jones and Caradoc Dearborn – a story about the depth of friendship and the shallowness of lust, and how no one should ever confuse the warmth of the first with the passion of the second.

Disclaimer: Characters and stuff © JK Rowling. My name is not JK Rowling. DON'T SUE.

**Chapter the first: Deception**

_In the autumn of 1978 …_

Hestia Jones had never thought that she would end up here. The tinkle of champagne glasses was muffled by the dull murmur of conversation in the ballroom. The crème de la crème of a very particular batch of the wizarding world was here tonight.

She felt like a rabbit tossed into a den of wolves. Her eyes scanned the group. Here and there the atmosphere was broken by a shrill bout of forced laughter. She'd always hated parties like these.

A slight pressure at the small of her back interrupted her thoughts.

'Deadly dull, isn't it?' said an aristocratic voice, absolutely dripping with boredom. Hestia carefully arranged an expression to match on her own face – it wasn't difficult.

'Terribly,' she muttered.

The man at her side smiled – it twisted his face in odd ways. He was tall – but then, Hestia conceded, from her viewpoint most people were tall – and blonde and well-dressed. His eyes were blue and cold. His robes were of the very latest fashion.

'My dear Hestia, you are always a breath of fresh air at these things,' he said, as he surveyed the other partygoers just as she had been doing only seconds before. 'I have missed your company this evening.'

Hestia raised an eyebrow. 'Why, Lucius,' she said, her voice laden with sarcasm. 'How nice of you to say so. Even though you have spent the last two hours whispering God-knows-what into Narcissa Black's ear, you were still thinking of me. I'm touched.'

Lucius Malfoy shot a sharp look in her direction, stunned for the briefest of moments. Then he laughed. The sound grated on Hestia's ears. How she loathed him!

'My dear, you're priceless,' he said, his eyes streaming with mirth. 'I ought to know better, I suppose – you have eyes like a hawk!'

Hestia did not laugh. 'You ought to know better,' she agreed coldly. Something about her tone was enough to make Malfoy take notice. He frowned at her.

'You aren't angry at me, are you Hestia?' he asked. 'It was a simple mistake, anyone could have-'

'What am I to you, Lucius?' she asked, her eyes not leaving the main floor of the ballroom. She refused to look at him. 'I am not some _toy_ you can throw aside at a moment's notice for someone else. I refuse to be treated as such. You know I will not stand for these games, Lucius. You know better than to cross me.'

Malfoy frowned more deeply still. He moved around to stand in front of her and took her chin in his right hand, forcing her dark blue eyes to look into his light ones.

'Are you _threatening _me, Hestia?' he asked dangerously.

She glared, and jerked her face out of his grip.

'You're a pig,' she growled. 'How dare you speak to me like that? I'm leaving, and don't you dare try to stop me.' She turned on her heel and swept out of the ballroom. As she stormed down the corridor, she silently began a countdown. _Five … four … three … two …_

'Hestia!'

Ah, yes. She was still holding all the strings. She stopped in her tracks but did not turn around. Malfoy's footsteps hurried along the corridor towards her. His hand landed heavily on her shoulder and swivelled her around.

'Don't you walk away from me,' he warned. His anger was cold, like his eyes. Hestia responded with some ice of her own.

'Why shouldn't I?' she demanded. 'I can't mean that much to you, if you choose to spend the evening with that … that _woman_. Be warned, Lucius; if you choose to treat me like a plaything I shall leave you. Don't test my patience.'

Malfoy stared at her. But behind his glare there was a flicker of uncertainty.

'Hestia …'

They stared at each other. The sounds of the party filtered through from the next room. Hestia raised her eyebrows.

'Fine,' Malfoy said finally, his mouth curling back into that same, twisted smile. 'You win, Hestia. I do hate to argue with you – if this is what you want, then of course I will agree.'

Hestia's expression did not change. She wouldn't have trusted Malfoy any further than she could throw him. She let her frostiest look linger on his face for half a minute before she walked briskly past him into the ballroom. He followed, taking her hand as they reached the double doors. She let him.

Hestia Jones knew how to make men fall in love. She knew exactly how to keep them guessing. There was something about her that intrigued every man who came across her path. She had just the right combination of striking looks and fiery temperament to attract them, the perfect recipe for lust. A man would say anything to the woman he loved to get her to stay with him – particularly if she was as volatile as Hestia had the potential to be. She knew how to keep a man in line. Oh, that part was easy.

It was remarkable how much power her five foot frame could exert over men. She scarcely had to try.

Lucius steered her towards a group of men near the grand fireplace. She acknowledged each of them with a sullen nod. She made no attempt to join their conversation. Around them, light, tinkling piano music faded unceremoniously into the hum of voices. Lucius laughed and Hestia cringed inwardly. She thought longingly of her bed and the half-finished book that lay on her bedside table …

There was a crash, and a scream. The people around Hestia gasped. She gripped her wand in the hidden pocket of her dress. Lucius put his hand on her shoulder and pushed her back.

'Stay here,' he muttered, heading for the door from whence the noise had come. But before he could reach it, there was another scream, which was cut short by a harsh curse and a flash of green light which extinguished every lamp in the ballroom. Hestia heard the partygoers panic and felt them rush past her as, unafraid of the sudden darkness, she pushed forward towards the door…

She pulled it open, pointing her wand into the small antechamber beyond. There was no sound except the rushing footsteps of those fleeing the hall.

'Lumos,' she said harshly. The glittering wandlight illuminated the grisly scene.

Lucius appeared at her side. The dim shapes of robed figures moved just beyond the light from Hestia's wand.

'This is not something I wanted you to see, Hestia,' Lucius admitted gravely. One of the robed men moved into the pool of light to examine the body that lay on the floor. It was a woman. Hestia felt Lucius take her wand from her numb hand, finding that she could say nothing, do nothing … her body and mind had frozen, but her heart was beating wildly. In the white light of Hestia's wand, the face of Dorcas Medowes was pale and drawn. Her body lay in a heap where it had fallen.

Lucius put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her away; but the sight remained, burned into her eyes.

'Did you know her?' he asked once they were across the room from the scene of the murder.

Hestia took a deep breath. Her numb brain finally kicked into action. A single thought crossed her mind. _I must lie_.

'No,' she said quietly. 'Who was she?'

Lucius smiled coldly. 'A foolish woman, who could not see when she was beaten. The Dark Lord has seen to it that she should finally understand her position in life.'

Hestia repressed the urge to shudder.

'I want to go home, Lucius,' she said shakily. 'I think I've had quite enough of this party for one night.'

Lucius nodded and handed her wand back.

'Yes. I will speak with you tomorrow. For now, go home. You are safest there.'

He took her hand, kissed it, and smiled as she left.

As soon as she was out of sight, she disapparated back to her little bedroom.

Here she sank to the floor, her body cold, her eyes streaming tears. She couldn't move, she couldn't think. Inky rivers of mascara coursed down her cheeks but she didn't care.

She was the reason. The reason Dorcas Medowes was dead.

_A few days later …_

James Potter made his way through the graveyard at a solemn pace. He stopped in front of a particular marker and knelt down, brushing away the ivy that was eating the stone. He didn't know whose grave it was. It looked as though no one did anymore.

'This can't go on forever, James,' said a female voice. James didn't turn. He picked another piece of ivy off the stone and sighed.

'It won't, Hestia,' he promised.

Hestia stood a little way off, behind a thicket of bushes. James knew this, although he still did not look up.

'I don't know how long I can keep this up,' she said fearfully. 'Sooner or later, he's going to see me for what I really am-'

'Hestia, don't,' James said quickly. 'You have to stay strong. You can do this.'

'I don't want people dying on my account, James,' she whispered.

There was a silence, in which James wondered what he could say. There wasn't much, he knew. Would it be different this time? Probably not. But they all had to keep going, keep fighting … and that meant Hestia too.

'You can't give up, Hestia,' he said finally. 'It'll all work out in the end.'

He heard Hestia sniff back her tears. 'Will it, James? Will it? Is that what you told Dorcas Medowes? Who will you send to the front lines now she's dead, James? I can't take this – I wasn't cut out for this game.'

He heard her begin to walk away. With a quick glance around for eavesdroppers, he jumped up and grabbed her shoulder, forcing her to turn around and look at him.

They had known each other all their lives, but James barely recognised the young woman who stood before him now. Her face was tear-streaked; her dark blue eyes empty of the fire that had once lit them. Her lower lip trembled. Her elfin features were pale and the normally rosy hue of her cheeks had greatly diminished.

He hated himself for pushing her, for turning her into a spy. But she was the only one who could do it … without her, they were lost.

'You can't just walk away now,' he sighed. 'You know you can't. You're too involved with it to walk away now.'

She took a deep, shuddering breath. 'I can't handle anyone else dying while they try to protect me,' she said quietly. 'If I have to continue, then I want to continue alone.'

James frowned.

'You can't go on alone! What if something happened to you?'

'That's a chance I choose to take,' Hestia said firmly. 'Don't send anyone to sneak around behind the scenes anymore. Let me do what I do. It'll be for the best.'

She shivered and pulled her cloak around her diminutive frame.

'I should go,' she said. 'Someone might be watching.'

James sighed again. 'You'll be all right, Hestia?'

She smiled weakly.

'I can take care of myself, James,' she said. 'You ought to know that better than anyone.'

He nodded and offered his best attempt at an encouraging smile.

Hestia walked away, weaving through the tombstones. James watched her leave, wondering what he could do to help her. It felt like she was beyond his help now.

_Three years previously …_

Hestia sent a furious curse into the doorpost. James Potter, who was sitting idly in a chair by the window, lazily countered it with his own spell in order to save the woodwork.

'Hestia, you know, I understand your anger, but _seriously_, d'you mind? The place has only recently been painted.'

'How DARE she?' Hestia exploded, taking no notice of James's warning. 'She's practically forcing me into it! She can't do this; there must be some sort of law!'

'Actually, in pureblood families arranged courtships – not to mention marriages – are quite common,' said Sirius Black, who was, as always, seated at James's right hand.

Hestia glared at him.

James shrugged. 'You know he's telling the truth, Hestia. Besides, what's the point in complaining to us about it? Go and tell her where you stand. _You_ ought to have no trouble sticking up for yourself. I can't imagine anyone successfully managing to force you into _anything_.'

'You don't know my mother!' Hestia despaired. 'The woman won't take no for an answer! She's practically written up the guest list already! I caught her talking to Honeydukes about wedding cakes! She's insufferable! And that Malfoy git just sucks up to her every chance he gets! I think if she had half a chance, _she'd _go ahead and marry him! Stuck up little bastard, thinks he's so fabulous …'

James and Sirius exchanged a glance.

'Malfoy, did you say?' Sirius murmured slowly.

'Yeah. Why?' Hestia raised her eyebrow suspiciously. 'What are you – oh Merlin, nothing good ever comes from that look of yours,' she muttered, as a slow, thoughtful smile crept across James's face.

'My Dad was talking about him,' James said, carefully avoiding Hestia's eyes. 'Lucius Malfoy, is that it?'

'Yeah, but –'

'The Malfoys are an old family,' Sirius said. 'I bet he could tell you some useful things, Hestia.'

'I bet he _would_, if he thought you were on his side,' James added.

Hestia glanced between the two.

'You're not _actually_ suggesting what I think you're suggesting, are you?' she demanded.

James glanced up at her.

'It's not like we're saying you should marry the wanker,' he said. 'Just … pamper his ego a bit.'

Sirius nodded. 'He'd never suspect you.'

Hestia stared at them.

'You're both nuts,' she said finally. 'This is crazy – not to mention dangerous! What if he turns out to be a Death Eater?'

James laughed. 'From what you've told us about him, Hess, he sounds like nothing more than a pretty boy with a smarmy attitude. Come on! You've got to admit that it's a great idea. At the very least you'll get to go to a lot of posh parties and talk to important people.'

'And if he asks me to marry him or something?'

Sirius grinned. 'I'm sure you'll think of a severe enough insult, Hestia. You usually do.'

Hestia couldn't believe it.

But a little voice inside her head was nagging her. _You could do it_, it said quietly. _You could do it. You could make him tell you anything._

Because she had seen the look in Malfoy's eyes the last time she'd spoken to him, and she knew that she could make him say anything – _anything_ – to hold her attention.

The more she thought about it, the less crazy it seemed.

_Back in 1978 …_

It was all over the _Daily Prophet_. She tossed it to one side, sickened. They were saying that the Dark Lord himself had killed Dorcas Medowes. That would mean that he had been in that room, just a mere fifty feet away from where Hestia had stood.

Her flat was full of the clutter of a busy life. Dishes cluttered the sink. Items of clothing, old newspapers and magazines littered the floor. The whole flat had a faint, but particularly nose-wrinkling smell to it. It was dark, and cold. She didn't see much point in remedying the situation – these days she was hardly ever home, it seemed.

Next to the sink, a large bunch of flowers sat unceremoniously in an old jam jar. She glared at them with contempt in her eyes. They just sat there, unheeding of the poisonous look on her face, continuing to represent (or so it appeared) everything that was wrong with her life. As though she needed reminding.

She had made her choice. It was the same choice she had to re-make every morning when she woke up. It was the choice she had made three years ago, and six months after that, when she had found out that Malfoy was, in fact, a Death Eater. It was a choice that other people – good people, people so unlike those that Hestia was forced to be in the company of day in and day out – had died for. And yet, no one guessed – at least, Malfoy had never guessed that it had been her choice all along. And now she was locked into that choice. She couldn't walk away from it now. James had been right.

Hestia hated it when James was right.

She stood up and stretched. Another night waiting tables. At least Malfoy would be nowhere in sight. She went to her bedroom to change into her uniform.

When she came back into the living room, there was an owl waiting on her coffee table, looking at her expectantly. She groaned, recognising its ruffled brown feathers and altogether homely appearance. Of all the things she didn't need right now …

'Shoo!' she said loudly, waving her arms at it. 'Get out! I don't want your letter!'

The owl didn't move. Its large eyes were reproachful.

Hestia rolled her eyes.

'Why me?' she asked of no one in particular, bending down to take the parchment envelope that had been tied to the owl's leg. Relieved of its burden, the owl hopped back to the open window and flapped away into the encroaching twilight. It had long ago given up on Hestia wanting to send any kind of message in reply to its master's letters. It knew that if it hung around, there was no chance of it getting fed.

Hestia looked down at the envelope in her hands. Familiar handwriting spelled out her address carefully. She winced, wishing that he wouldn't do this. She brought out her wand. This time, she would …

But as always, something stopped her before she could mutter the curse that would see the envelope crumble into ashes. As if on autopilot, she went to the cupboard and pulled out the little wooden box she had hidden there. Opening it carefully, she slipped this new letter in to join its fellows. She tried not to think about it as she put the box back in its place, behind some old pairs of shoes.

She straightened up, brushing down her skirt. At least at work she could pretend that her life was remotely normal, she thought ruefully, as she slammed the wardrobe door shut.

_That night, in London …_

James Potter sat at his desk, staring at a photograph by candlelight. Smiling faces looked back at him and waved. He watched for a while as his photographic best friend whispered a joke into the ear of his photographic self. He watched as Lily, who was standing beside him in the picture, grinned and tugged on his hand to get his attention. He watched as, in a group to the far left of the picture, Dorcas Medowes laughed heartily in response to a joke of Alastor Moody's …

He sighed and rested his head in his right hand. It was always hard. Especially when he knew … if he hadn't … she wouldn't've been …

He couldn't even bring himself to think it. Instead he tried to think about how to help Hestia. No matter what she said, he couldn't allow her to carry on with this by herself. It was suicide. She needed someone out there who was willing to protect her if the whole scheme started to fall down about her ears. Even if they were horribly outnumbered. It just had to _look_ like a back-up plan, in any case. Just so he could say, _if_ the worst were to happen, that at least he had done everything he could.

Just so that, _if_ Hestia lost her nerve at the crucial moment, James could still sleep at nights knowing that he had done _something_. It wasn't entirely selfless, but there you were.

But try as he might, he was at a loss for plans. This almost never happened to him. He cast his eyes over the faces of the Order in his photograph, searching for the answer. It stubbornly eluded him.

A hand sneaked over his shoulder. He jumped and looked up into Lily's face.

'Oh, hey,' he said. 'You gave me a fright.'

She looked sad as she noticed the photo he was agonising over.

'Why do you torture yourself like this, James?' she sighed.

James shrugged and looked back at the photograph. 'I don't know,' he admitted quietly. 'I guess I feel like I deserve to be tortured a little bit, you know?'

'Oh, James,' Lily murmured softly. 'You're too much of a Gryffindor for your own good, sometimes. Why don't you come to bed? It's too late for this – you'll never accomplish anything if you just stare at that picture all night.'

James thought about this for a second.

'I suppose you're right,' he said finally. He stood up and stretched. 'It'll probably work out better if I sleep on it.' He yawned. Lily smiled and kissed him.

'Good boy,' she said happily.

James smiled back and squeezed her hand.

'You go on ahead – I'll be up in a second. I'll just clean up a bit down here.'

Lily nodded, kissed him again, and then headed out of the study and up to the bedroom. James looked around the little room. He closed the curtains against the dark night and went across to his desk to put out his candle. He paused over the photograph.

Dorcas Medowes waved and winked. He sighed.

Then he saw someone tap her on the shoulder. She turned to listen to the conversation of this newcomer.

James watched Caradoc Dearborn talk quietly and seriously to Dorcas for almost a full minute before he was aware of Lily's voice calling him from the top of the stairs.

'Coming, love!' he called back, thoughtfully reaching for the candle. The room and the photograph were enveloped in darkness. He headed upstairs, a new plan kindling in his brain …


	2. Beginnings

Author's note: Yes, Olivia, big Terry Pratchett fan. Unfortunately it doesn't lend itself as well to fanfic – or perhaps I just know that I could never do it justice. As for Caradoc Dearborn – well, as you will see from this chapter, I hate to let an awesome name like that just go to waste. And he is MISSING as you say … not dead. Although I don't really want him to turn up in the 7th book – I've built up a character around him now, and I love him to bits. Like seriously. You'll see.

As for writers losing interest hangs head in shame. I have two discontinued stories here on One was just… not working out, and the other, although I got plenty of lovely reviews, seemed to me to be getting worse by the second. Big learning curve. I have since learned how to plan out the plot before writing, and also how to make eleven-year-olds _sound_ eleven, which is important.

It's nice to have people read this – it's kinda random after all. I try to keep things canon, but of course I've had to make up Hestia and Caradoc's personalities from scratch. Not that I mind, because it feels more like actual writing, but it does take something away from the canon aspect.

So ANYWAY, read on for more mystery, romance, drama and intrigue! And more James Potter too, don't forget him

Disclaimer: Characters and stuff © JK Rowling. My name is not JK Rowling. DON'T SUE.

**Chapter the Second: Beginnings**

_November 12th, 1978, and the WWN's favourite breakfast host is in the middle of an interview…_

'So, Caradoc – you'll be playing at the Wizard's Familiar this Thursday?'

'Er… yeah.'

'I'm sure they can expect a good turnout. I understand that your fan base is largely female? How do you feel about that?'

'Well, it's a bit weird; you know … I guess I don't really think about it that much.'

'Oh, _sure_. Hard to believe, ladies, but I actually managed to steal a girl from him back at Hogwarts! No hard feelings, Caradoc?'

'Well, it wasn't exactly-'

'Oh, I'm afraid we're all out of time for this segment – be sure to catch Caradoc at the Wizard's Familiar in Hogsmeade this Thursday, fresh from his American tour. Thanks for being with us today, Caradoc. You're listening to Breakfast with Benjy on the Wireless Wizarding Network, home of the most magical tunes in Britain! We're coming up on ten o'clock here in the studio; and here's the latest single from my good friend Caradoc Dearborn, going out to all you ladies out there – he _is_ single, girls …'

A few minutes later, Caradoc stepped into the fresh air outside the studio. He sighed and turned up the collar of his coat against the wind. Diagon Alley was all but deserted. The sky above was a steely grey.

'How was America?' asked a voice. Caradoc turned to find James Potter leaning casually against the side of the building. He smiled to himself, albeit rather tiredly.

'Quiet,' he said. 'I was wondering when you'd turn up.'

James laughed. 'I've been somewhat busy. It's not exactly a walk in the park, you know, protecting the wizarding world from the forces of evil.'

'Try showbiz sometime,' Caradoc muttered. 'I'd swap lives with you any day.'

'Ah, yes,' James grinned. 'How is our good friend Benjy Fenwick today?'

'Same as usual,' Caradoc replied, rolling his eyes. 'The only thing worse would be spending the morning with that Skeeter woman. Did I tell you that I caught her going through my garbage the last month? Merlin only knows what she was looking for.'

James laughed ironically. 'Yes, well. I suppose the wizarding world needs someone to be famous for something other than murdering people in their beds. Come on; let's go to the Leaky Cauldron. You can buy me a drink.'

Caradoc noted that James had that look on his face … the one that every student in their year at Hogwarts had come to dread. The one that meant that he had a plan, and that more likely than not that plan involved _you_.

'I don't suppose I've got any choice in the matter?' Caradoc sighed. James shook his head, grinning.

'Not in the slightest, Dearborn.'

_July 24th, 1966. Somewhere in the floo network._

Spinning through the emerald flames was the worst way to travel that Caradoc could possibly imagine. As soon as he began to slow down he threw himself forward just as his father had told him he should.

He nearly broke his nose on the stone hearth that jumped up to greet him. The shock of impact jolted through his body and concentrated itself in his knees and shoulders. His heart was beating painfully.

As far as first contacts with magic went, this wasn't turning out well at all.

He pulled himself to his feet with a groan of effort and glanced around the enormous kitchen into which he had emerged. There was no sign of his father anywhere. In fact, the more Caradoc thought about it, this room was far from the quaint country dwelling which Edward Dearborn had described to be his home.

The many surfaces and bench tops gleamed in the mid-morning sun, which reflected off rows of spotless saucepans and cooking utensils. A massive wooden table dominated the centre of the room. Light muslin curtains fluttered at the large windows that ran along the east wall.

He panicked slightly. What if this had been the man's plan all along? Just to get rid of him? He knew his father would probably prefer it if he just didn't exist. Edward Dearborn had no time for a son, especially one born illegitimately to a muggle woman he had come across in his misspent youth. Caradoc wondered if the connection was still working – would it be possible to jump back into the fireplace and get back to Wales; back to his mother? He turned around.

The fire was dead.

It was at that moment that he became suddenly aware of another person in the room, just out of his line of sight. He gulped, imagining the kind of witches that he had seen in stories with green skin and ugly, horrible warty faces. He turned slowly.

A small girl with messy black hair and a white dress had a wand pointed directly between his eyes. Her expression was terrifying, even though she had to be at least six inches shorter than he was. Perhaps that was what made it so terrifying.

'Who in Merlin's name are you?' she demanded, shaking her wand at his face.

Caradoc held up his hands in a gesture of peace. Somehow the expression on this girl's face left no doubt as to whether or not she knew how to use that wand of hers.

'My name is Caradoc Dearborn,' he explained carefully, wishing there was an adult about. The girl didn't look half crazy. 'I was travelling by floo powder and got the wrong fireplace. My father is Edward Dearborn,' he added hopefully.

The girl frowned at him for a moment, and then moved forward a step, her wand still outstretched. Her mouth was curled in a scowl.

'Edward Dearborn doesn't have a son,' she informed him coldly. 'I happen to know. You're lying.'

Caradoc felt the colour leave his face. 'I'm not,' he pleaded with her. 'It's the truth. I've never travelled by fire before, that's all.'

She glared at him.

'I don't believe you,' she said. 'I don't know who you are but you can jolly well get out of my house this very instant.' A few blue sparks flew from the end of her wand as if to reinforce her point. Caradoc took a step backwards and hit his head on the mantelpiece.

'I'm – I'm not lying, I swear.' He rubbed his throbbing head where he had hit it. 'I just came – Edward – that is, my father – he said … look, aren't your parents home?'

Her face hardened.

'Of course they are,' she said in a patronising tone. 'What kind of people would leave an eleven-year-old girl home by herself in such a huge house? Not that I can't take care of myself, mind you.'

Caradoc didn't believe that she wasn't alone. There was too much bitterness in her voice for the statement to be true.

'I'm eleven too,' he said quickly, glad for a bit of common ground. 'Just had my birthday on Monday. Will you be going to Hogwarts too then?'

The girl glared at him a moment, then lowered her wand.

'You don't look like much of a fight, in any case,' she noted, as though continuing a train of thought that had been running through her head while Caradoc had been talking. 'What are you doing here?'

'I told you – it was the fire,' Caradoc reminded her. 'I got messed up. I was trying to get to Jones Cottage.'

'Jones Cottage?' she said suspiciously.

'Yes – do you know it?'

Her dark blue eyes, almost black, narrowed underneath her shabby black fringe. 'If you're really Edward Dearborn's son, how come I haven't met you before?'

'Well, it's kind of a long story,' Caradoc admitted, attempting a sort of smile at the girl. Her expression stayed as still as stone.

'Start talking then,' she suggested.

'I just-' He cast around for the right words to explain his unorthodox parentage. His eyes strayed to the kitchen windows.

'Hey, there he is!'

Edward was striding across the lawn to the house, looking very frazzled indeed. Caradoc shot a smug look at the girl.

'See? I told you I wasn't lying.'

Her eyes followed Edward's progress across the lawn. He was almost running, although not quite. Caradoc doubted that a man like Edward would ever run anywhere. However, he reached the kitchen door in good time, considering.

The girl, with a last, confused look at Caradoc, went over to the door and pulled it open.

'Hullo Mr Dearborn,' she said cheerfully. Caradoc did a double-take. Her whole demeanour had switched.

'Hestia. Good, I hoped you'd be here. Has – has anyone turned up in your fireplace in the last few minutes? It appears I've lost someone.'

'Let me see …' the girl turned back to Caradoc and gave him a calculating stare. 'About four foot seven? Blond? Covered in soot?'

'That sounds like him, yes,' Edward agreed with obvious relief. 'Thank Merlin – his mother would have killed me if I'd lost him in a chimney somewhere.'

Caradoc stepped forward into the doorway.

'Caradoc!' Edward cried. 'Didn't I tell you not to get out until you saw me? Didn't I tell you to speak clearly? No wonder you got lost. Thank heaven you only got out one grate too early.'

Caradoc found himself mumbling an apology, even though he knew that there was no way the incident could possibly be his fault.

'You must be more careful in the future, Caradoc,' Edward concluded seriously. He acknowledged the girl with a nod of his head. 'Thank you, Hestia.'

'No problem, Mr Dearborn,' Hestia replied with a wide grin. 'Glad to help. I didn't even know you had a son my age.'

Caradoc resisted the urge to glare at her. She was a right little suck-up, this one.

Edward's mouth twitched in what might have been a wince – it was too quick for Caradoc to tell properly.

'Hestia, do you think we might keep the fact that Caradoc is staying here … our little secret?' Caradoc glanced at his father. What did he mean by that?

'Of course, Mr D. My lips are sealed. I'll see you around, eh Caradoc?'

'Come along, Caradoc,' Edward said, placing his hand on Caradoc's shoulder and steering his son out of the kitchen and back across the smooth lawns.

'Bye!' Hestia called from the doorway.

Caradoc looked up at his father as they reached the driveway, shaded by tall trees on either side which sent silver shadows across their faces.

'Why should it be a secret that I'm staying with you?' he asked suspiciously.

Edward coughed in an embarrassed way. 'Yes, now, about that … I just thought … Janine Jones is the biggest gossip in all of England, and if Hestia were to mention to her mother about you … well … I don't need the whole of the wizarding world looking into my affairs,' he concluded firmly. 'You would do best to stay away from the Jones house,' he added to Caradoc. 'At least for the time being.'

Caradoc frowned, but nodded. He supposed he could understand Edward not wanting to be the subject of gossip.

They reached the end of the Jones' long and relatively unused-looking driveway (Caradoc supposed that what with floo powder and flying carpets and suchlike that they didn't really need cars) and came across a shabby little gatehouse. It was covered top to bottom in thick moss and ivy, and parts of the walls looked like a strong breeze would knock them into the tangled mess of a garden that was growing over the fence and into the surrounding trees. The gate was lying open, hanging off a single rusty hinge because the other had corroded away long ago. Edward stepped through and up the damp concrete steps to the doorway, and Caradoc followed, wondering how a man like Edward Dearborn – who obviously took so much pride in appearances – could stand to live in such a shack of a building.

Caradoc rather liked the place, however. It was charming, in a ramshackle kind of way.

Edward tapped the door with his wand before swinging it open. Caradoc followed him into a dark hallway. The furniture was chintzy and covered in a fine layer of dust, and the room smelled faintly of tobacco smoke.

Edward coughed again. 'Your room is at the top of the stairs,' he said. 'I'm afraid it's not very homey around here – I don't spend much time at home if I can help it.'

'Why not?'

'My work takes up most of my time,' he explained, and when Caradoc shot him a blank sort of look, he added: 'I work for the Ministry of Magic.'

'There's a Ministry of Magic?' Caradoc asked.

'Of course. Got to have someone to run everything.' Edward chuckled to himself. 'If you could call it that.'

'What does a Ministry of Magic _do_?' Caradoc asked curiously. Edward smiled benignly.

'Come on, we'll have some lunch and I'll tell you something about it,' he offered, leading the way into the cottage's tiny kitchen. It was as dark as the hallway, and filled with a kind of patterned light that had been made green by filtering through the vines that covered the windows. It was crowded and stuffy. Caradoc sat at the grimy table and looked around. Through the vines outside the window, he could make out the shadow of the Jones house, a great grand manor on top of a little hill.

'Is that girl really all alone in that grand house?' Caradoc asked.

'Pardon?' Edward replied, flicking his wand at the kettle, which issued a jet of steam.

'That girl – Hestia? Is she all alone up there in that house?'

'Oh … I suppose she probably is. Her family's very busy, and they've lost track of their house-elf in all those rooms. Her older brothers are usually around, though. Good kids – you'll have fun.'

He placed two cups of tea and a plate of biscuits on the table with a smile.

'Hestia can take care of herself. She's had a very good education. I suppose your mother wants something of the same for you.'

Caradoc thought about this a moment. He still wasn't too sure about this whole magic business.

'So, what do you do at the Ministry of Magic?' he asked, deciding to change the subject.

Edward chuckled. 'Not much, to tell you the truth,' he said, sipping his tea. 'I work in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. I oversee funds being sent to dragon reservations.'

Caradoc's eyes became in immediate danger of falling out of his head.

'Dragons?' he said weakly.

Edward nodded calmly. 'It's deadly dull, actually. Lots of paperwork. Like … accounting. With numbers and money – is that what it's called? I forget. Anyway, in my younger days, I used to have some adventures with dragons … that's how I met your mother, as a matter of fact …'

'Really?' Caradoc asked, interested.

Edward nodded. 'There's a dragon range not far from your village. I was working there over the summer, misleading muggle trampers-'

'Muggle?'

'It means non-magic person. Like your mother, or anyone who doesn't have wizarding blood. It was my job to lead muggles away from the dragons so that they wouldn't get hurt, usually with special charms and that sort of thing. Your mother was hiking through the forest with her sister and I was following them to make sure they didn't go anywhere near the dragons. Anyway, one thing led to another, and …' He coughed and looked away.

'It was all so very long ago,' he sighed. 'I never thought … that is to say …' he shook his head. 'Anyway, there you are. I have to – there's some work from the office that I should be finishing up. You can entertain yourself for a little while, can't you?'

And with that he made his escape. Caradoc was left sitting in the cottage's dingy little kitchen by himself. His eyes strayed to the window, and the shadow of the manor house. He sighed. Yesterday he had been a normal eleven-year-old boy, albeit one with an absent father. Now he had a father who was a wizard.

He wondered if he would see Hestia Jones again. He wondered if it was a prerequisite of having magical blood that you were a little to the left of sane. He wondered … he wondered when all this would begin to make sense.

He had a strong suspicion that it never would.

_1978, the Leaky Cauldron_

'So, James. What are you planning, anyway?'

James smiled and glanced around conspiratorially.

'Not planning anything,' he told Caradoc. 'Past planning. Events have been set in motion. I am now at the execution stage.'

Caradoc raised his eyebrows.

'And what has this execution got to do with me?' he asked.

James grinned, and Caradoc knew he had correctly interpreted his friend's cryptic manner.

'You know, Dearborn, you're sharper than people give you credit for. You're doing your little piano act over at the Wizard's Familiar this Thursday, aren't you?'

Caradoc nodded. 'Why?'

'I assume that you know that Hestia Jones is a waitress there?'

Caradoc sighed heavily and looked away.

'I'd heard,' he said. 'What's your point, James? Because if it's anything to do with Hestia Jones I feel obliged to remind you that she hasn't spoken to me for almost five years now.'

_Four years, ten months, twelve days to be exact,_ Caradoc thought miserably. _But hey, who's counting?_

James rolled his eyes. 'Forget whatever happened between you two, that's not important.'

'I'd like to forget,' Caradoc muttered. 'But you know how good Hestia is at holding a grudge.'

'Look, Dearborn, I'm telling you it's not important. Hestia needs some help, and you're the man to do it. The whole point of it is to make sure that she doesn't _know_ you're there to look after her, or _I'll_ be the one she develops a grudge against.'

'You set up this gig at the Familiar, didn't you?' Caradoc said suspiciously. 'Why does it have to be me, James? Surely someone else could do it just as well. Better, even. Hestia will know why I'm there as soon as she sees me.'

'Why should she think it's anything more than an unlucky coincidence?' James retorted. 'She said she didn't want people lurking behind the scenes anymore. Well, that's the exact opposite of what you'll be doing. You'll be right out in the open, doing what you do best. Trust me. This couldn't be more perfect.'

Caradoc was sceptical. 'I don't know, James. She'll probably take the night off when she hears that I'm coming, anyway. That's her kind of style.'

James grinned. 'Thursday _is_ her night off. But I happen to know that a certain person of her acquaintance has reserved a table for seven' o'clock, about the same time that your act commences. She'll be there, all right.'

Caradoc was frowning still. 'Why does she need anyone there to look after her, anyway? She's usually perfectly capable of looking after herself. What have you got her doing, James?'

'Nothing she can't handle, trust me,' James said quickly. 'Her mother pushed her into a relationship with this Malfoy character a few years back and – Merlin's Beard, Caradoc, don't look at me like that! Look, you know me, all right? I persuaded her-' he lowered his voice- 'that there was a way to use the situation to her advantage. I just like to keep another set of eyes on her if I can. Just in case.'

Caradoc glared at him. 'Just in case? I've heard of that Malfoy guy. He's dangerous. Did you know that when you sent her off to sweet-talk him? Bloody hell, James!'

'Keep it down, will you?' James said urgently. 'What are you so angry about? You just said that she's perfectly capable of looking after herself. I know that too, but I still make sure there's always someone else to look out for her.'

Caradoc tried to tell himself that James knew what he was doing, but he was having trouble coming up with evidence to back this claim.

'If it ever became dangerous for her, you'd get her out, right?' he asked worriedly.

'The whole world's dangerous right now, Caradoc,' James replied gravely. 'But yeah, of course. Hestia's like my sister. I've known her all my life. I'd never let her carry on if she was just going to get hurt. That's why I always have someone nearby to watch out for her. Only now she says she'd prefer to go it alone, without my interference. I can't let her do that, Caradoc. I'm sure you'll agree. But at the same time, I hate to get on her bad side.'

'No kidding,' Caradoc murmured.

'Yeah, well, you would know.' James looked across the table at him, a sober look in his eyes. 'Look, I don't know what happened with you two, and I make a point of not asking. All I'll say is this: I know you'll be watching her anyway on Thursday night. I mean, there's no denying it, is there? I wouldn't have bothered telling you that I'd set it up if I hadn't thought that you could use the warning.'

Caradoc sighed. It was a fair point. He would've been looking for Hestia on Thursday night no matter what. At least now he would understand why she was having dinner with Lucius Malfoy.

He nodded. 'All right. Thanks for the warning.'

James smiled encouragingly. 'Great to I know I can count on you, Caradoc.' He finished the last of his drink and stood up. 'Thanks for the drink. I'll catch up with you later, all right?'

Caradoc nodded glumly.

'Good man. See you.' He started to walk away, but then changed his mind and came back.

'One more thing,' he said. 'Don't try to talk to Hestia on Thursday. Stay well away, understood?'

Caradoc looked up at him.

'I wasn't going to-'

'Yeah, well, just remember that, all right?' James said firmly. 'You could get her in deeper trouble than you realise.'

'All right,' Caradoc said. 'But I honestly wasn't going to bother.'

'Just making sure,' James said. 'Take care.'

He left. Caradoc was left staring at what remained of his drink. He sighed heavily.

Talk to Hestia? Why would he try to do something like that? Surely any idiot could tell that it was by now a pointless exercise. Hestia was the most hard-headed, most stubborn person that Caradoc had ever met. Once you were on her bad side, you stayed there. Merlin, he knew that well enough. It wasn't like what he had done was even all that bad. At least, not by normal standards. By Hestia standards it was damn well unforgivable.

He shook his head. He'd tried. He'd tried to talk to her, to reason with her, too many times to count. She wouldn't listen. He'd tried apologising, he'd even tried begging. None of it had made any impression. In the end he'd all but given up hope.

He still sent her a letter every week. He didn't bother so much with what he put in them anymore, though. It was like a diary entry more than anything else. He assumed that she probably threw them all straight into the fire.

At least he'd see her again on Thursday. It had been a while.

He could scarcely believe that their friendship had come to this.


	3. Her Love

Pedantic canon moment, sorry. Had to reload chapter.

**Chapter the Third: ****Her love**

_The village of Skenfrith, Wales, November 1978._

'Mum?' Caradoc let himself in. The house hadn't changed much, in all these years. It was one of those places that would stay the same no matter how much time passed. This house could be counted on, it seemed to say.

'Mum?' Caradoc called out again, hanging his coat in the hall and putting his keys down on the cabinet. 'Are you home, Mum?'

'In here, love!'

Caradoc smiled as he headed into the kitchen, where his mother was patiently doing this morning's crossword. Bright autumn sunlight filtered in through the kitchen windows, causing the countertops to sparkle. The room glowed in the midday sun.

A radio played Frank Sinatra on the windowsill. Caradoc smiled to himself.

'How's things, Mum?' He asked, leaning over to kiss her cheek. She smiled.

'Just fine, dear, just fine. How did your interview go yesterday?'

Caradoc rolled his eyes. 'The usual. That Fenwick bloke's a git.'

Elain laughed softly. 'So you've told me. I suppose you want a cup of tea?'

'I'll make it,' he offered with a smile, heading to the sink to fill the kettle. He didn't use magic in his mother's house – it was … uncomfortable. In fact, magic didn't have any place in this village at all as far as he was concerned. If he'd had any choice in the matter it might not have had any place in his _life_, but as it was …

'Spoken to your father lately?' asked Elain. Caradoc sighed and shook his head.

'I've been avoiding him. He keeps asking why I'm not married yet.'

'Huh! He's a fine one to talk!'

'Yeah, well.' Caradoc pulled some mugs out of the top cupboard as the kettle began to whistle. He flipped it off quickly. 'He seems to think I ought to get either a 'proper' career or a wife. Something about saving the family name from complete dishonour. I didn't catch the finer points of his reasoning.'

He placed a mug on the table next to his mother's hand and took the seat next to her at the scrubbed wooden table.

'In any case, I'd rather not talk about him,' he continued matter-of-factly. 'How're you? We didn't get much of a chance to talk the last time I saw you - did you get my letters? From America?'

'Yes, dear, I got them. It sounded like you had a marvellous time.'

'It was all right. A bit tiring. Impossible to find a decent cup of tea in the whole country, and I kid you not. I was dying to come home by the end of it all.'

Elain laughed. 'Too true. Did you meet any nice American girls?'

Caradoc shook his head in disbelief. 'You're beginning to sound like Edward,' he warned. 'And the answer is no. Not that I was looking, mind you.'

Elain smiled in an amused, motherly way. 'I wasn't implying anything, Caradoc. Just asking. You spend too much time alone – it wouldn't hurt for you to find a nice girl.'

Caradoc raised his eyes to the ceiling. 'Thank you, mother, that will be quite enough,' he said in a world-weary voice. Elain laughed.

'This is what mothers are for,' she reminded him lightly, sipping her tea. 'Besides,' she added, more seriously, 'I worry about you. You're always working – you never seem to go out and have fun. That's what this time of your life should be about, but all you do is waste the days and nights writing sad music for people who don't know or care about you. You're only young once, Caradoc.'

Caradoc nodded patiently. 'I know,' he sighed. 'You worry about me, I get it. But I'm fine, really – I _am_,' he added, because Elain had rolled her eyes in a sceptical manner. 'Really. I just – just …'

He shrugged.

'I'm fine,' he concluded lamely.

Elain reached out and patted his hand.

'If you say so, dear,' she said in that comforting and yet somehow disconcertingly knowing voice that all mothers perfect sooner or later. 'Will you be staying for dinner tonight?'

'Yeah I guess,' he said, shrugging. 'There's no food in my flat.'

Elain laughed and ruffled Caradoc's blond hair as she had done when he'd been a boy. 'How did I know that was the case? No wonder you can't find a girlfriend. You're hopeless, and that's the truth.'

Caradoc smiled at her .As always, he was glad to be home.

_Ten years ago in__ 1968, in the Ravenclaw common room…_

Hestia sighed loudly. She was bored. She was often bored.

She lounged sideways on an overstuffed armchair next to the fire. Caradoc was in the chair next to her, poring over the essay he hadn't yet completed. He took no notice of her predicament – that's how often she was bored. Besides that, the deadline for his essay was tomorrow morning, and he didn't quite understand …

'Do _you_ know all the limitations put on animagi by the Ministry?' he asked, frowning.

Hestia shook herself out of her own thoughts.

'What?' she asked.

'Never mind,' Caradoc muttered, hastily scribbling out a sentence with his quill and writing another one.

Hestia shrugged and went back to her own internal monologue.

She felt restless. The quidditch game was this weekend, and she wasn't sure if the Ravenclaw team was ready to face James Potter as chaser. They didn't seem to realise – she'd seen James fly, and he was _good_. Better than most, even she could admit that; and she didn't like the prat. But her fellow Ravenclaws had been fully prepared to dismiss him as just the snotty little third-year who sometimes interrupted their route to class by dropping dungbombs in the corridors. Underestimate James Potter at your peril, she'd said – but did they listen? Of course not.

She sighed again. She would just have to catch the snitch before he could score any goals.

Caradoc muttered something to himself and scribbled another sentence down. Then he flipped through the heavy textbook which was propped open on his lap. He underlined something and then went back to his parchment.

Hestia was glad she'd finished her essay in History of Magic earlier that day. She would have helped Caradoc out with his, but he preferred to do things like that for himself. She yawned, smiling at her friend. He was funny, the way he left things until the last minute and then panicked as he struggled to finish. She repressed the desire to laugh at him as he sat frowning at his parchment – it wasn't that she was being spiteful; it was just that Caradoc amused her so very much.

He was the only real friend she'd ever had. Oh sure, she'd talk to James Potter if she had to, and Sirius Black was also all right for a laugh, and Alice Lancaster was okay as long as she wasn't chasing after some quidditch player or another – but Caradoc was the only person she would call her friend. Her best friend. Who needed anyone else? Certainly it had never bothered her that she didn't have any more friends.

It wasn't like they were very similar. Hestia was … well, she was loud; she admitted to herself. Boisterous would probably be the word. She liked to have plenty of people around. She liked quidditch and loud music and telling jokes. Caradoc, he wasn't like that at all. He was definitely quiet. He liked playing piano and writing songs in his notebooks. He liked to read books. Being by himself didn't bother him at all.

He was never very bothered by things other people said. Hestia wondered if this was one of the reasons she liked him so much – she could say anything she liked and he would shrug it off, as though he didn't mind at all. He was always so _calm_ about things – at least until the night before an assignment was due. Hestia was never very worried about schoolwork. She got the same marks as Caradoc without really worrying, so it didn't occur to her that she should try any harder. Besides, there were so many other things to catch her attention …

She noticed that the sound of Caradoc's quill had stopped. She blinked.

'I just wrote the same sentence three times,' Caradoc moaned, staring at his essay. 'I'm never going to get finished at this rate!'

Hestia laughed.

He sent her a reproachful look. 'It's not funny, Hestia. I'll get detention if I don't hand this in on time.'

'Sorry, sorry,' Hestia said, still chuckling. 'How much have you got to go?'

Caradoc sighed. 'Another eight inches, and I'm almost out of things to say.'

'Make your handwriting bigger, then. That's what James Potter does – he told me.'

'Yeah, I might have to.'

'Your handwriting's tiny anyway,' she told him. 'You'd probably be over the limit in _my_ writing.'

'Yeah, probably. But I can't read your writing half the time.'

Hestia laughed again. '_I_ can't read my writing half the time,' she shrugged amusedly. 'Just keep going, you're nearly there.'

'Yeah, you're right,' he sighed again.

He frowned at it for another second, and then started writing again, this time slightly bigger than before.

Hestia watched him pensively. She liked how he wrote so neatly and precisely, she decided. And she especially liked that he cared so much about his schoolwork – even if he did leave most of his essays until the last minute because of his music practise.

She thought that she probably liked most things about Caradoc – even the silly things that no one else would notice. She liked that she knew him better than anyone else. He was so much more interesting than everyone else at this school. And in a strange way, even more interesting because he was, in a strange way, _hers_. _Her_ friend. No one else's.

She couldn't imagine not having Caradoc. It would be like … like losing a limb. Like not being able to do magic anymore. Worse than that. Like never being allowed to play quidditch again.

Around them, the Ravenclaws in the common room filtered upstairs to their dormitories. The fire flickered down to its embers. Hestia closed her eyes and leaned her head against the back of her armchair, listening peacefully to the sound of Caradoc's quill as it scratched its way across his parchment. She thought absently about friendship, and imagined what the look on Caradoc's face would be if she just leaned over and …

She came to her senses with a start, her eyes snapping open. She couldn't believe the image that had just passed, unbidden, before her eyes … but then, she realised, she'd seen it before, in her crazier dreams…

'There!' Caradoc exclaimed, throwing his quill down on the table. 'Finished! Finally!' He yawned and stretched. 'What a mission,' he said with a relieved smile, settling back into his chair and smiling absently across at Hestia.

She smiled back.

'Before you say it, I know I shouldn't leave things 'til the last minute,' he said sleepily.

'That's not what I was going to say,' she told him.

'Oh? That's what you normally say.' He laughed. 'Well, it's been said anyway, for the record. So what _were_ you going to say?'

'I was going to ask you a question,' she admitted. 'But you have to promise to not to read anything into it.'

He shrugged. 'I've spent the last five hours analysing Transfiguration texts,' he said wearily. 'I'm not about to analyse your questions on top of all that. Ask away.'

She bit her lip.

'Caradoc, have you ever … you know, liked a girl?'

Caradoc thought about this for a moment.

'Not … not really,' he said thoughtfully. 'I mean, I've seen girls that I thought were pretty, but I never really thought about them any more than that. And of course I like _you_ –' Hestia's heart skipped a beat – 'but, I mean, that's different, isn't it? So I guess I would have to say … no.' He shrugged again. 'Why do you ask that, of all things?'

'Oh, I just … wondered,' Hestia said, quickly focussing her attentions on the fire.

'Do you like someone?' Caradoc asked suspiciously.

'No, I … no.' Hestia looked back with a smile. 'In this castle? Are you mad? Who have I got to choose from? James Potter? Sirius Black? Gross!'

Caradoc chuckled. 'Fair point.'

She grinned. 'Sometimes I reckon you and me should just stick to ourselves. You're the only person in this castle that I can halfway stand.'

Caradoc nodded, sharing her grin. 'And you're the only one who puts up with me,' he agreed. 'You're probably right – we should just stick together.'

'We don't need anyone else,' Hestia said firmly.

Caradoc shook his head. 'No, we don't really.' He yawned again. 'I've got to go to bed, Hess,' he added. 'I'll see you in the morning, all right?'

'Yeah, all right,' Hestia nodded, turning her attention back to the dying embers in the fireplace. 'Good night.'

'Sweet dreams, Hess,' Caradoc yawned, standing up and gathering his books and essay before heading off towards the staircase that lead up to the boys' dorms. Hestia frowned.

'Caradoc, wait!' she called, turning in her chair. Caradoc stopped at the foot of the staircase.

'What?' he asked.

'I … I just …' Hestia faltered. She took a deep breath.

'We're best friends, aren't we Caradoc?'

'Of course, Hestia,' Caradoc said bemusedly.

'And we'll always be best friends?'

'I hope so, Hess,' Caradoc smiled.

Hestia paused.

'I just … wanted to make sure,' she finished finally, losing her nerve.

Caradoc shrugged. 'You're in a strange mood tonight, Hestia. Come and get me for breakfast tomorrow, all right?'

'Yeah, all right.'

Caradoc disappeared up his staircase. Hestia turned back to the fire. She stared at the glowing embers for a few minutes.

'Damn it!' she muttered finally, before heading up to her own dormitory.

_1978, Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place …_

'Hestia, darling! You look lovely, dear. Come in, come in, don't just stand out there on the porch!' Walburga Black laughed shrilly, setting the hairs on the back of Hestia's neck on edge. She smiled graciously at her hostess.

Mrs Black turned her dark eyes on the man who followed in Hestia's wake.

'Lucius,' she said smoothly and respectfully. 'How marvellous to see you. You look well.'

'Thank you, Walburga,' Lucius said courteously, taking Hestia's cloak from her shoulders as they entered the grand foyer of the traditional Black family home. 'I am quite well, I assure you.'

Mrs Black ushered them through into the drawing room, clad in its heavy green drapes and dark wooden trim. Seated stiffly on various couches and armchairs were the remainder of the dinner guests.

In particular, Hestia objected internally to the presence of Narcissa Black, Walburga's niece, and her sister Bellatrix Lestrange. Bellatrix's husband, Rodolphus, was also there; and his brother, Rabastan. Sirius Black's younger brother Regulus was brooding by the window in a manner which echoed strongly of his older sibling. Orion Black, Walburga's husband, reclined easily in a large chair near the fireplace. He stood as Hestia and Lucius entered the room.

'Lucius!' he beamed, his smile just like Sirius's, but with none of Sirius's mischievous charm. 'How splendid to see you.'

Lucius inclined his head respectfully. 'We thank you for the invitation,' he said.

Orion waved his hand at a free couch.

'Take a seat, friend. Hestia,' he added in greeting, nodding at her. She smiled broadly back. _I ought to get some sort of award for all the acting I do_, she thought ruefully.

'We missed you at the Goyle affair last week, Lucius,' Rabastan said in a bored voice.

'Yes, I sent them my apologies. I had … _matters_ to attend to.'

His hand rested on Hestia's knee as he said it. She wished that she could just jerk away.

'You ought to have come, Lucius,' piped up Narcissa Black from across the room. Hestia sent a cold look in the girl's direction. The tall, thin blonde smiled unwaveringly back. 'It was absolutely _dull_ without you.'

'Well, that doesn't exactly make me sorry that I missed it,' Lucius said lightly. The room twittered with polite laughter. Narcissa blushed as if on cue. Only Hestia and Bellatrix gave no reaction to Lucius's comment.

'Where is that house-elf?' Bellatrix demanded, her dark, hooded eyes glancing angrily about the room. 'Shouldn't we have that tea by now?'

Walburga shrugged. 'Probably sulking somewhere.'

'Oh, Lucius, now I remember,' Orion said suddenly, clicking his fingers. 'I have that paperwork that you asked me for. It's in my study.'

'Excellent,' Lucius said. 'Perhaps we should go and check it over.'

'Yes, I think that would be best,' said Orion. 'We men shall take our leave, and leave the ladies to their gossip.' He laughed at his joke as he stood and motioned that the men should follow him. Rodolphus and Rabastan let him and Lucius lead them out without comment. Regulus reluctantly turned away from the window and went after them.

Hestia shifted uneasily in her seat. The Black women were much more difficult to contend with than their male counterparts. She silently gathered her wits about her.

Bellatrix tutted restlessly.

'I shall give that house-elf a beating next time I see it,' she muttered. 'Why do you put up with it, Aunt?'

Walburga smiled mirthlessly, but did not reply to her niece. Instead, she turned her piercing gaze on Hestia.

'I saw your mother the other day, dear,' she sad silkily.

Hestia was good at this. Her expression did not falter one bit.

'Did you?' she asked lightly.

'Yes. She was in Diagon Alley. She wouldn't stop to chat, though.'

Hestia smiled amusedly. 'Really? So unlike her.'

'That's what I thought,' Walburga said quietly, and for a moment it looked as though she would go on, but she was interrupted by Bellatrix.

'I can't wait any longer,' she declared, standing up. 'I am going to find that little piece of filth.' And with that she swept from the room, presumably to find the offending house-elf and beat it to within an inch of its life. Hestia felt that it probably didn't have much to do with dissatisfaction with the creature's service – Bellatrix just liked to torture living things that couldn't fight back.

Walburga sighed and stood up. 'I had better follow,' she said composedly. 'Who knows what that girl will get up to.' She, too, swept from the room.

Hestia was left sitting across from Narcissa. Their eyes caught across the coffee table – Narcissa had an imperious look in her cold eyes, and Hestia glared back as openly as she dared.

Narcissa didn't mince words.

'Don't pretend that you like me, Hestia,' she said loftily. 'I'm not as stupid as you might think.'

Hestia raised an eyebrow. 'I know your type, Narcissa,' she said dangerously. 'And I can see what you're trying to do from a mile away. I feel I should tell you that you're wasting your time.'

From the next room the faint sound of Walburga's voice rising in volume cut through the dusty silence.

Narcissa smiled frostily. Bellatrix's voice joined the argument from the next room. Such things were to be expected in Grimmauld Place – Hestia's previous visits had only confirmed this. It was best just to ignore it.

'I can't imagine that I know what you're talking about, Hestia,' Narcissa said sweetly.

Hestia didn't reply. She merely glared at the other girl through narrowed eyes. The shouting in the next room ended abruptly. Hestia and Narcissa stared at each other.

'You should be careful,' the blonde said finally. 'You can't string a man along forever without marrying him. And your parents have disowned you, haven't they? That will affect your prospects.'

Hestia set her jaw. 'You can't win at this,' she said.

'You see, this is where you would be wrong,' Narcissa replied calmly.

Walburga returned at that moment, Bellatrix in tow. They took their seats. A few seconds later a tray of biscuits and tea served in silver cups appeared on the coffee table.

'Finally,' Bellatrix muttered, taking a cup. The other women followed suit. They surveyed each other calculatingly over their tea.

'So, Hestia dear,' Walburga said finally, setting her teacup back on the table and fixing Hestia with a determined look. 'Have you and Lucius set a date yet? We're simply dying from suspense here!'

Hestia tried very hard not to choke on her tea.

'Not – not yet, Walburga,' she said carefully, putting down her cup with a slightly trembling hand. 'We both decided … that is, the pressure of his job …'

Narcissa smirked over the rim of her cup. Bellatrix raised her perfectly shaped eyebrows.

Walburga smiled and reached across to pat Hestia's hand. 'It's all right, dear,' she said smoothly. 'We understand.'

Hestia smiled blandly.

In her private thoughts, she took a deep, shuddering breath.

_How long could she be expected to keep this up?_


	4. Family Lies

A reload of this chapter, there was one change I had to make. For some reason, I had a pedantic canon moment. I mean, I can forgive the dodgy timelines, but the names of Sirius' parents? No, it had to change.

**Chapter the Fourth:**** Family Lies**

_1976, Jones Manor_

Simon Jones stared at his kid sister.

'I don't believe you!' he cried. 'You _know_ what Malfoy is, but you refuse to leave him! Whatever happened to your morals, Hestia?'

Hestia stared stonily back.

'Don't get in my way, Simon,' she warned. 'I know what I'm doing.'

'I don't think you do!' Simon despaired, throwing his hands into the air. 'You can't … this isn't you, Hestia! I was surprised enough when you agreed to take mother up on her venture, but now …' he shook his head. 'Tell me that you've got some hidden agenda in all of this, tell me that you're not just brainwashed like the rest of those pureblood idiots!'

Hestia avoided his eyes. She wanted to tell him. Simon had always been her favourite brother. He was a Ravenclaw, just like she was. Of her four brothers, he had been the one to look out for her. She wanted to assure him that she wasn't throwing in her lot with Lucius Malfoy. She wanted to tell him James's grand plan. But she couldn't.

No one could know. Not Simon, not anybody. Only James and Sirius. The less people that knew, the less likely it was to get back to Lucius, the more likely it was that no one would get hurt.

'I'm quite capable of making decisions for myself, Simon,' she said icily. 'You taught me that.'

Simon's mouth fell open.

'You're not … you can't be _serious_,' he whispered, shocked. Her head turned quickly, and cold fire smouldered in her eyes.

'You would do best to stay out of my way,' she said quietly, dangerously.

Simon continued to stare at her, aghast. He stepped backwards, towards her bedroom door.

It broke her heart to disappoint him. But it had to be done. No one could suspect her. _No one can know_.

Simon shook his head, still in a state of disbelief.

'Mother and Father will talk you out of it,' he said; but whether it was to convince her, or himself, she wasn't sure. 'When they find out that he's a Death Eater, they'll forbid you to see him again. For your own safety.'

Hestia held his gaze with a determined look. This was all some sort of test, she thought. Well, Hestia Jones did not back down from a challenge.

'They can't stop me,' she said. 'I'll leave.'

Simon took a deep breath. Hestia kept her expression still as his eyes lingered on her face, searching for something that she prayed he wouldn't find. She hoped he didn't know her as well as she'd always assumed he did. She hoped against all reason that she was a good enough actress to fool her big brother. For his own safety. He had a wife and a daughter who was almost eight years old. She couldn't let them become part of this.

He broke eye contact and looked away. A look of intense regret crossed his angular features.

'I don't even know my own sister,' he sighed finally, closing the door as he left.

Hestia swallowed back her tears.

'No, Simon, you don't,' she murmured miserably. 'You really don't.'

_Jump forward now to 1978, in the Ministry of Magic, Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures …_

'Caradoc! Do come in, come in - take a seat. I'll be with you in a second, I just have to –' Edward gestured vaguely to the ledger that sat on the meticulously neat desk in front of him. Caradoc nodded to show that he understood and hesitantly took the offered seat.

The office was dark and cramped. Edward Dearborn had never been a particularly important Ministry official. Still, he kept his files in meticulous order, and there was not a hint of dust on any of the highly polished wooden surfaces. It was all about appearances.

Edward underlined a number on his ledger sheet and frowned slightly before looking up at his son.

'I'm glad you came, Caradoc,' he said with a smile.

'You said in your letter that it was urgent,' Caradoc reminded him. After all these years, he had little patience with his father – and that was saying something, as Caradoc was a very patient person by nature.

'Yes, I … er … I had a matter of some urgency to discuss with you, yes …'

He raised his wand and the office door swung shut. Caradoc swung around, frowning.

'Is that necessary?' he asked.

'Can't be too careful,' Edward said gravely.

Caradoc turned back to his father, slowly, not sure that he was going to like where this was going. These little father-son chats were awkward enough.

'What is this about?' he demanded.

'Now Caradoc, don't go jumping to conclusions on me, I just wanted a chat,' Edward said defensively. 'I'd heard something along the line that I just wanted to clear up with you, that's all.'

'Right. Well, what did you hear?'

Edward cleared his throat nervously.

'It's just that … and you must understand that I've no wish to interfere in your life, Caradoc, as you know – but, well … horrible things in the news lately, just horrible…'

'What exactly are you trying to say?' Caradoc asked, his little patience wearing thin.

Edward sighed.

'You're an adult now, Caradoc, so I only ask you to consider this as helpful advice. You might want to give some thought to … to your side. In all of this. I remembered that you were acquainted with James Potter, and –'

'My friendship with James is none of your business, Edward,' Caradoc said coldly. 'What are you trying to suggest? That you don't approve of what James Potter is trying to do?'

Edward held up his hands. 'Nothing like that, Caradoc, nothing like that. It's just that, well … in times like these … perhaps it is best to at least _appear_ to … how should I put this? Sometimes it is best to … bet on the winning team, if you catch my meaning.'

Caradoc stared at him in horror.

'You're actually serious, aren't you?' he said, after a dumbstruck pause.

'Deadly serious, I'm afraid,' Edward replied solemnly. 'You're already a public figure, Caradoc. If your allegiance to James Potter's cause were ever to come to light, it would not bode well for you. You do understand that, don't you Caradoc? This is not your war. This is not for you to die for.'

Caradoc could scarcely believe what he was hearing. After all they'd been through, after everything; what gave this man the _right_ to judge him? He stood up He'd had just about enough.

'Thank you for your concern,' he muttered scathingly, heading for the door.

'Caradoc, wait! Can't we talk about this?'

Edward rose from his chair to stop him, but he was already gone.

_April__ 1966, Number 12 Grimmauld Place._

Ten-year-old Sirius Black surveyed the small girl who was perched on the edge of the green couch next to her mother. They'd met before, of course. They were distant cousins – but then, nearly everyone Sirius met was related in some way. He quite liked Hestia Jones in spite of this. She was smart and funny and she could hold her own in an argument.

Her mother often brought her here. However, despite Janine Jones's desire to uphold her social commitments, Sirius suspected that Hestia's life wasn't very similar to his own. She was … actually, Sirius had trouble deciding exactly what it was that Hestia was.

She wasn't like him, he knew that much. But all the same, she was ok to talk to.

She caught his eye and grinned, nodding her head towards the door. Sirius glanced at their mothers, who were enthusiastically engaged in their gossip, and then nodded back. They slid off their chairs and went out into the corridor. As soon as her mother was out of sight, Hestia pulled something out of her pocket.

'Here, look at this. I brought it to show you. But you can't let on that I've got it – I nicked it from my brother Antony, and if my mother finds out she'll kill me.'

She thrust the precious object into his hands. He stared down at the tiny figure.

'Is this …?'

'Hamish MacFarlan, of the Montrose Magpies,' Hestia said proudly. 'Antony must've been saving for _months_ to be able to afford it. It's a limited edition.'

Sirius watched as the tiny quidditch player strolled over his hand, pausing to pick something out of his teeth. He grinned.

'Cool,' he said.

'Dad says that if they get into the league finals, he'll take me to the game,' Hestia said excitedly.

'Wow, that's awesome,' Sirius said. 'Hey, we should show this to Regulus – the Magpies are his team, too.'

Hestia beamed at him, obviously happy that her prize was appreciated.

'That's a good idea,' she said. 'Where is he?'

'Upstairs, I think. Hiding from Narcissa and Bellatrix,' he added in a conspiratorial whisper. 'But you didn't hear it from me. They want to practise hexes on him.'

'Who are Narcissa and Bellatrix?' Hestia asked, as she followed him up the stairs.

'Haven't you met them? They're our cousins. Bella's a couple of years older than you and me, and Narcissa's a year older than Regulus, so a year younger than us.' He shrugged. 'They're not my favourite people, to tell you the truth,' he confided in her. 'But they're staying with us for Easter. Bella's in second year at Hogwarts,' he added unnecessarily.

There was a loud crash and a bang from upstairs as they reached the landing. They paused and looked up.

'That'll be the girls,' Sirius told Hestia. 'They'll be combing the place, looking for Regulus. I reckon I know where he went, though.' He grinned and beckoned for Hestia to follow him. They went about halfway down the corridor, and then Sirius stopped in front of a tapestry. He glanced around furtively before lifting it aside, revealing a trapdoor concealed halfway up the wall. He knocked.

There was no answer.

'Reg, it's me Sirius! Open up!'

The door opened a crack and the face of Sirius's younger brother peered out.

'Are they still looking for me?' he asked fearfully.

Sirius nodded. 'Yeah, but you're safe for now. I told them you had a hiding place in the attic.'

'Thanks. Hi Hestia,' Regulus said with a smile. He looked very much like Sirius, although slightly thinner and paler. 'I'd invite you guys in, but there's not much room in here.'

'That's all right, Regulus,' Hestia said kindly. 'I brought this from home, and Sirius thought you might like to see it.'

She handed over the tiny figure of Hamish MacFarlan. Regulus opened the trapdoor some more so that he could take it. He stared at it in awe.

'Wow,' he murmured. 'We saw this in Quality Quidditch Supplies, didn't we Sirius?'

'Yeah, I think I remember it,' Sirius nodded. 'It's cool, huh? Hestia stole it from her brother.'

Regulus laughed. 'Which one?'

'Antony,' Hestia said.

'Good job,' Regulus said, expressing the common opinion of Hestia's closest brother. 'I'm going to go back to hiding before Narcissa and Bellatrix come along.' He handed the figure back to Hestia. 'If you guys want to do me a favour you could try to distract them.'

'Can do, bro,' Sirius grinned, as Regulus pulled the trapdoor shut again. 'Come on, Hestia. This will be a bit of an education for you.'

'What do you mean by that?' Hestia wanted to know, as they headed back to the staircase and began to make their way up to the attic.

Sirius smiled to himself. 'Just don't let them get to you, all right? And don't rise to Bella's bait – it only makes it worse.'

Hestia frowned to herself.

Sirius pushed open the door to the attic and poked his head around it. Hestia could hear the sound of various curses hitting the assortment of items stored within.

'Any luck?' asked Sirius, walking into the centre of the room cautiously, as though he was afraid something was going to leap our from behind the dusty piles of Black family memorabilia and attack him. Someone did appear from behind the boxes, but it was only a small blonde girl in pink robes, holding a wand. She shook her head in response to Sirius's question, and then jumped as there were some more curses uttered from somewhere in the shadows, and a loud crash and the smell of smoke as something was destroyed.

'You better be careful, Bella, or I'll tell Aunty Walburga that you're making a mess,' The blonde girl called, sticking her tongue out at whoever was behind the boxes.

A tall girl appeared, her wand still trailing smoke. She was older, and had long, glossy, straight black hair. Her eyes were dark and hooded.

'You wouldn't dare,' she hissed, pointing her wand at the younger girl, who backed away, frightened. 'Unless you want me to give up looking for Regulus and start practising on _you_.'

Sirius cleared his throat.

The older girl – Bellatrix – turned to him with a scowl.

'I'm starting to think you might have been lying to us, Sirius,' she said, surveying her cousin with cold dislike. 'Who's your girlfriend?'

Hestia blushed.

'Hestia Jones – Bellatrix and Narcissa Black,' Sirius introduced smoothly. 'Hestia's mum is taking tea with mother.'

Bellatrix muttered something indistinct as she sent a cold look in Hestia's direction. Then she turned back to Sirius.

'I have half a mind to settle for cursing _you_ instead, cousin,' she said pointedly. 'Your brother is nowhere to be found.'

'Well, he's got to be _somewhere_, it's not like he can leave the house,' Sirius replied in a bored voice. 'And if I were you I wouldn't start on me – unless you want a repeat of last time.' He smirked.

Bellatrix scowled. 'That was a lucky shot,' she growled.

'Perhaps,' Sirius shrugged. 'If you want to test that theory anytime, you know where to find me.'

The older girl drew her wand and advanced.

'That so, Sirius? Well, you won't be afraid to give it another go then, will you cousin?' She was smiling in a way that made Hestia take a step back. Sirius didn't move, but pulled his wand out with a grin.

'Careful, Bella,' he said. 'I don't want to hurt you.'

Bellatrix tightened her grip on her wand, the colour draining from her face in her fury.

'You stuck up little –'

'Sirius, I really don't think that this is a good idea,' Hestia murmured. Sirius brushed off her comment with a wave of his hand.

'Be quiet, Hestia, I can handle this.'

'Yes, do be quiet, little girl,' Bella spat scornfully.

Hestia bristled. '_Little girl_? I'm older than Sirius!'

Bella rolled her eyes, still advancing on Sirius. 'Good for you. Perhaps when my cousin and I are done I shall use you as a target.'

'Look, Bella, leave her out of this,' Sirius sighed, his gaze still level. 'She's got nothing to do with it.'

Bellatrix's upper lip curled. 'You two lovebirds are really getting on my nerves, do you know that? Are you going to make your move anytime soon, or are you going to stand there protecting her all day?'

Sirius remained calm. 'After you, cousin.'

Bellatrix's eyes narrowed. She smiled coldly.

In one swift move, she changed her aim. Her harsh curse hit Hestia in the stomach and she was flung back into some dusty boxes.

Sirius wasted no time, and he and Bellatrix were immediately locked in combat. However, her two years' extra experience meant that she was easily able to block her cousin's curses, and even had enough time too shout instructions to her younger sister.

'Keep that one on the ground, Cissy! I need to concentrate!'

Hestia struggled to her feet, wishing that her mother would have given in and bought her a wand. Narcissa advanced, wand outstretched.

'Bella's taught me all kinds of curses,' she said conversationally. 'But I think I'll try this one first: _Impedimentia!_'

Hestia fell back again and hit her head on the floor. Eyes streaming, head swimming, she tried again to get up.

'Bella, that's _not fair_!' Sirius yelled, dodging his cousin's curse as he raced towards Hestia. 'She doesn't even have a wand! What are you thinking?'

Bellatrix just laughed.

'That'll teach you for challenging me, baby cousin!' she cackled. Sirius shot a desperate hex in her direction – it missed by miles.

'Ha! That the best you can do? You need to get some practice in, Sirius – you come to Slytherin in this state and I'll have you in the hospital wing in a week!' She pointed her wand at him again and sent a jet of emerald green light at him. He tried to deflect it with a complicated blocking charm, but Hestia winced as she felt what he hadn't managed to ward off wash over her.

'C'mon Hestia, let's get out of here,' he said urgently, grabbing her hand and dragging her towards the attic stairs, muttering jinxes and shooting them back at his cousin as he went. Hestia could hear the sisters start to follow them but as soon as they were in the third floor corridor Sirius pulled her into a guest bedroom and quickly locked the door behind them. They waited for a few moments until they heard the distinct sounds of Bellatrix and her sister rushing past.

Sirius took a deep breath and smiled. Hestia, who was panting heavily, seriously considered throttling him.

'What … the _hell_ … do you think you were doing?'

Sirius laughed. 'Good diversion for Regulus, don't you think? They've forgotten all about him, I bet.'

Hestia glared at him. 'Only because they now want to kill _us_ instead!' she cried.

Sirius shrugged. 'I said it was good for _Regulus,_ not us. Don't worry so much – we can dodge them until it's time for you to go home.' He grinned again. 'Besides, it was sort of fun, don't you think?'

Hestia just stared at him.

'You are stark raving _mental_, Sirius Black,' she declared.

_Monday, November 14__th__, 1978, The Wizard's Familiar …_

'Table fourteen, Hestia.'

'Can you clear up that table by the stage, Hestia?'

'This is for nineteen.'

'Medium rare, love – and could I get you to leave the mushrooms out of the sauce?'

Hestia bustled to and fro, taking orders, clearing tables, seating patrons. She enjoyed her work – it was easy, painless and required little actual concentration, but still kept her on her toes enough that she didn't have long periods sitting about doing nothing. The restaurant was a busy one, located right in the middle of Hogsmeade. There were always plenty of customers. The wage was decent. All in all, work was her favourite place to be.

Malfoy didn't understand it. Of course, _he'd_ never done an honest day's work in his life – true for every possible meaning of the phrase. He was always telling her to give up her job, that he would support her … Hestia was usually forced to wave him off with some lame excuse, because her job was all that kept her sane.

'Horace Slughorn wants his usual table for Thursday,' announced the manager to the kitchen staff; he was a tall, thin, balding man called Fyfe Kimball. 'Start cooking now and we might have enough food to whet his appetite.' The chef guffawed into his casserole. Hestia smiled as she passed with table nine's order.

'Not his usual night, is it?' she commented to Kimball, who shrugged.

'Guess he likes Dearborn's music. Said something about him being a former student – you know how Slughorn is with his favourites.'

Hestia faltered, nearly sending table nine's seafood platter crashing to the linoleum floor. She straightened up quickly, feeling the eyes of the kitchen on her.

'Whoops!' she said loudly, over-cheerfully. 'Tripping over my own feet – I'll fall off the floor if I'm not careful!' Ignoring their suspicious looks, she bounced back out into the restaurant.

She kept forgetting. Caradoc bloody Dearborn. Thursday night. She'd thought that she was lucky when she'd found out – Thursday was her night off. But then Malfoy had announced that their dinner plans would include the show. No matter how she'd raged at him, no matter how she'd pouted and cried, she hadn't been able to change his mind. In fact, the more she'd protested, the more determined and stubborn he became. So it seemed that she was going to be here whether she wanted to be or not.

It didn't mean she had to look at him, though. Or acknowledge his existence in any way.

She sighed internally as she placed the plate she was carrying in front of a large witch with piggy eyes. Thursday was going to be one _long_ night.

_Meanwhile, in London …_

'I heard that Caradoc Dearborn is playing at the Familiar on Thursday,' Lily said conversationally over dinner.

James nodded and swallowed his mouthful of mashed potatoes. 'Yeah, he is.'

Lily smiled wistfully. 'Perhaps we could go, James. It's been a while since we did something like that together.'

James looked up quickly.

'I … don't think that's a good idea,' he said slowly.

Lily frowned. 'Why not?'

'It's nothing, nothing,' he said, suddenly flustered. 'It's just … sweetheart, you know I've got all this work to do – what about next week?'

'Don't you 'sweetheart' me, James Potter,' Lily said with a glare. 'You're not good enough to fool me with your lies – what's going on?'

'What are you talking about?' James said in a bright voice, avoiding her eyes. 'I wouldn't lie to you, Lily, you know that – I'm just swamped at the moment, seriously …'

Lily continued to glare.

'Why don't you want to go to the Familiar on Thursday, James?' she asked in a dangerous voice.

James sighed. It was difficult to keep a secret when Lily was around. Two years of marriage and nothing had ever slipped under her radar.

'Look, I can't be at the Familiar on Thursday. I just can't. I'm sorry, but that's all there is to it. And you can't go by yourself, either,' he added, as Lily opened her mouth. 'It'll just cause trouble.'

The trouble was that James _couldn't_ tell Lily about Hestia and her deal with the Order. Already too many people knew. If Lily got caught up in it … Lily was in enough danger already, what with her being muggle-born and all.

Not to mention the fact that she would be totally horrified at the thought of what Hestia was doing with Malfoy.

'Don't you trust me, James?' Lily asked suspiciously. 'Why won't you tell me what's going on? Is it something to do with –'

'Of course I trust you,' James interrupted. 'You know I do, Lily. It's just that this is one of those times that I have to ask you to trust me. If we go to the Familiar on Thursday, we might cause a scene that could very easily be avoided by us just not going. I don't want to risk it, all right? As long as I'm nowhere near there, things will go according to plan.'

Lily bit her lip.

'All right,' she conceded grudgingly. 'I'll let you have your little secret. But I would like to see Caradoc again, though. I feel bad for him. Did you know that Hestia Jones is now engaged to Lucius Malfoy?'

James nearly spat his wine over the tablecloth.

'_What?_'

'I know!' Lily replied, clearly pleased that she knew something James didn't. 'It's going to be in the paper tomorrow, I think.'

James shook his head dazedly. 'Well, that's definitely news to me,' he said weakly. 'Do we have anymore of this wine, love?'


	5. Obligation

No long Author's note this chapter. Just the summary.

This chapter: Engaged? HP-style messages? More OCs? Caradoc had a girlfriend? Read on!

AND _REVIEW_ GODSDAMMIT! Even if you've got no opinion of my writing whatsoever, I'm sure you can make something up. Or just say hello. I know people are reading this without reviewing, and when this doesn't get reviews and slashfics do that makes me very sad …

I know it's not canon, but it could be …

**Chapter the fifth: Obligation **

_Tuesday, November 15th, Malfoy Manor …_

'ENGAGED?' Hestia exploded, dumping the morning's issue of the _Daily Prophet_ on Lucius's desk. 'And WHEN exactly did you plan on informing me?'

Lucius simply smiled – apparently he had predicted her reaction.

'I had thought that you would be pleased,' he said, facing her glare calmly. 'Now that I've made it official –'

'Official! As far as I'm aware, _Lucius_, the usual way to go about these things is to _ask_ the girl in question _before_ you inform the entire wizarding world!'

Lucius smirked. 'Well, do you?'

'Excuse me?'

'Do you want to get married or not?'

Hestia gaped at him. She couldn't believe this was happening. One moment, things had been relatively under control; and the next, everything had changed. Was this what the rest of her life would be like? Decisions being made for her, her entire life planned from beginning to end, and she with no say in the matter whatsoever …

What could she do? She couldn't very well refuse – what grounds did she have? She would be killed if Lucius ever found out the real reason she stayed with him. If she said no, she wouldn't marry him; he would want to know why. She tried not to panic. She had planned to yell at him and get the hell out of there to talk to James – James, who always had a plan, no matter what – but Malfoy's calm, cool manner was upsetting her. He had known that he would make her angry in placing that notice. But he had done it anyway. He knew that she was furious – but here he was, taking her abuse as steadily and easily as if it were a compliment to him in some way.

A small part of Hestia's mind recoiled at the realisation that Malfoy knew her better than most.

She avoided his eyes.

'That's not the issue here,' she muttered.

'As far as I'm concerned, Hestia, it's the only issue,' he said in a businessman-like manner. 'You either want to marry me or you don't. You didn't think that our relationship would carry on like this forever, did you? We have to choose a point to settle down. I choose now. You can either agree, or tell me why you disagree.'

She felt sick. There was nothing else she could say.

'Fine, Lucius, I'll marry you. But if you spring another surprise like that on me, I will … I'll … I'll turn you into a cabbage.'

Lucius chuckled.

'I hardly think it was much of a surprise, Hestia,' he commented dryly. 'After all, it _has_ been three years.'

She contented herself with a particularly poisonous glare in his direction before leaving the study altogether.

As she was leaving, the house-elf confronted her, pressing a diamond ring into her hand.

'Master said you were to have this.'

She felt a strong desire to drop-kick the creature across the entrance foyer. In the end she settled for storming out and slamming the door behind her.

_Later that day, in a private parlour in the Leaky Cauldron …_

'I can't believe this is happening,' she whispered, staring at the ring in her hand.

In the four hours since she had left Malfoy's house, she had gone through several stages of shock – the latest of which was numb disbelief. James stood at the window, staring moodily out into the muggle street and the ash-grey sky that covered it. Sirius was leaning against the fireplace, his hands in his pockets.

'We'll have to figure out something, James,' he said quietly, his dark eyes watching Hestia carefully. 'This has gone on long enough.'

'I agree,' James said darkly. 'But short of Hestia faking her own death, I'm clear out of ideas.'

'What do you mean you're out of ideas?' Hestia demanded, coming out of her stunned state to yell at him for a moment. 'How can you be out of ideas? Are you telling me that James Potter doesn't have a back-up plan for me? How typical, all you care about is saving your own conscience, but when it comes to saving my life …'

'Hey now, that's not fair!' Sirius exclaimed. 'We're trying to help you out here, if you don't mind –'

'Yes, Black, I _do_ mind; since it was you two who got me into this mess in the first place!' Hestia screamed.

'Listen, it isn't _our_ fault that Malfoy likes you, all right?'

'Leave her alone, Sirius!' James shouted. There was a silence.

James was still staring out of the window.

'Just … leave her alone,' he sighed. 'It _is_ our fault, after all. And now we have to fix the mess we created. Don't worry, Hestia; I'll think of something, I promise.'

'Yeah, well, you had better,' Hestia muttered, slightly thrown off by his outburst. The momentary tension in the room slowly eased.

'But … what are we going to _do_?'

'I don't _know_, Sirius,' James said loudly. There was another silence. Hestia and Sirius exchanged a glance.

'I'll think of something …' James muttered, more to himself than to the other two. 'I always think of something …'

'There is some time,' Sirius reminded them all. 'I mean, they're just engaged, right? No one's set any dates yet.'

'Malfoy put in that notice without telling me,' Hestia said quietly. 'Maybe he'll organise the wedding without me, too. I don't think he keeps me around because he enjoys my opinions.'

'Yeah, but it still takes time to plan a wedding – particularly on the sort of scale that Malfoy is so very fond of,' Sirius pointed out.

James nodded. 'Yes, we have some time,' he agreed. 'There'll be a way. There's always a way.'

Hestia glanced between the both of them.

'Last time I put my trust in you both, I ended up here,' she said slowly.

James winced. Sirius scowled.

'We'll find a way, I promise,' James said quickly, before Sirius could open his mouth. Hestia sighed.

'All right. It's not like I have any other choice in people to trust.'

James smiled weakly.

'There's always a choice, Hestia. But I think you made the right one today.'

Hestia ran her finger over the ring in her palm.

'I hope you're right, James,' she murmured. 'I hope you're right this time.'

_The village of Skenfrith, Wales, in the summer of 1966 …_

He grabbed his bike from the driveway and raced off down the street.

He didn't know where he would go; only that he would feel better if he were out of the house for the afternoon. As he tore through the village he did not even look for the boys who usually hung around outside the dairy, and ignoring it as they shouted his name he went straight down past the town and the ruined castle. As he came up to the fork at the end of the main road that ran through the village he had only a split second to make a decision as to which way he would go – at the last minute he turned right, in the opposite direction to the one he usually took when going to his piano lessons.

He rode along this road for about ten minutes before stopping. The place where he'd finally come to rest was shaded by giant fir trees either side of the road. Caradoc leaned his bike up against the bank and sat down on the roots of one. He sighed and closed his eyes. Hopefully his mother wouldn't be too worried about him when he didn't go down to lunch. Hopefully, even if she was worried, she wouldn't go looking for him.

It was nice and cool in the shade. Caradoc thought later that he might have actually fallen asleep there, leaning against the tree, if someone hadn't come along at that moment and tapped him on the shoulder.

'You're not asleep, are you Caradoc?' She asked with a little giggle. It was Kate – a girl in his class at school who sometimes had singing lessons at the same time as his piano lesson. She was all right – a bit odd sometimes though. He wasn't really sure _what_ he felt about Kate.

'No, I'm not asleep,' he sighed. 'What are you doing here?'

'Mum sent me into the village to do some shopping,' she explained, holding up her shopping bags as evidence. 'She can't because she has to look after the baby, and dad's out tending to the farm. I saw you going through the village on your bike – you were sure riding fast! What are you doing here, anyway?'

'Just – just exploring,' Caradoc explained.

'You're not doing much exploring just sitting there,' Kate giggled.

'Er … yeah, I guess not,' he said with a sheepish grin, pulling himself to his feet. 'Maybe I should find somewhere else.'

'You could come and have lunch at our house,' Kate suggested. 'It's not much like exploring, but there are ham sandwiches and orange juice and biscuits, which would be better than just sitting on the side of the road somewhere.'

As his stomach was feeling quite empty and because he'd not thought to bring some lunch with him, Caradoc gratefully accepted Kate's offer.

'Are you sure your mum won't mind?' he asked.

'Nah, she'll barely notice.'

He picked up his bike and walked with Kate for another minute or so until they reached her little farmhouse, nestled among the rolling fields.

'Come inside, I'll make us lunch,' Kate said eagerly, leading him into the shade of a cosy little kitchen. She put the shopping on the table and pulled some food out of the fridge. 'Just sit down,' she said to Caradoc.

'Oh, all right,' he said uncertainly. He was starting to regret his decision to take Kate up on her offer. As he looked around at the little kitchen, an uncomfortable feeling began to surface in his stomach. He wasn't quite sure why, but he suddenly wanted to be back under that tree.

'Kate!' a voice called suddenly. 'Is that you?'

'Yeah, I'm just in here,' Kate called back.

'Did you get the – oh, hello.' Kate's mother had appeared at the doorway to the living room. Her eyes fell upon Caradoc and she adopted a bemused expression.

'This is Caradoc Dearborn,' Kate said quickly. 'He has a piano lesson after my singing, and he goes to my school.'

'Er … hi,' Caradoc said hesitantly.

'Hello, dear. Kate, could I see you for a moment?'

Kate groaned and put down the knife. 'I'll be back in a minute, Caradoc,' she sighed, following her mother into the living room.

Caradoc sat awkwardly in the kitchen, listening to the rise and fall of voices in the room next door. His finger traced the grain of the wood in the table. He knew he should probably be at home. The more he thought about it, the more he would have liked to be at home. New questions about his father's identity were surfacing faster than he could recognise them. When he thought about how yesterday after their music lessons he had told Kate that he didn't know where his father was and didn't really care much either, he couldn't remember if he had been telling the truth or not. He didn't think he would say the same thing again, not now that he knew that in just a few hours he would be meeting his father for the first time.

He frowned to himself. Everything was just so weird. Why couldn't his father have just stayed a mystery? It had never bothered him before now. Better yet, why couldn't Caradoc Dearborn just be part of a _normal_ family … like Kate, with a Mum and a Dad and a baby brother …?

The door to the living room burst open and Kate stormed through. Caradoc could now hear her mother yelling, but the words couldn't reach his ears before Kate grabbed his hand and dragged him from the kitchen, out onto the back porch.

'Let's go, Caradoc,' she said angrily, picking up his dilapidated bike and thrusting the handlebars into his hands. 'We don't need her. Let's go down by the creek.'

Caradoc blinked, confused. Kate was already running down the hill towards a bank of trees which hid a creek, as she had explained before when they had been heading up the driveway towards her house. Caradoc hastened to follow.

'Kate!' he called. 'Kate! What's the matter?'

Kate just kept going. Caradoc tried to catch up, but the added effort of pushing his bike over the bumpy grass of the paddock meant that trying to move at her pace was impossible.

Caradoc thought she might stop when she reached the dark, swirling waters of the creek, but instead she just took a sharp right-hand turn and followed the winding track of the river further downstream. Caradoc gave up trying to push his bike and dropped it in the shade of a tall conifer.

'Kate!' he called again, finally closing in on her running form. 'Kate, what's wrong? Are you all right?'

She slowed to a walk. 'It's nothing,' she sniffed through her tears. 'You'll just think I'm a silly girl for crying.'

Caradoc caught her shoulder. 'I don't think you're a silly girl,' he said gently, hoping it would stop her from crying much longer. He was hardly experienced to handle such situations, and he had enough problems of his own to deal with.

Unfortunately, Kate's tears only got louder after his attempt to console her.

'Oh Caradoc!' she sobbed, turning to throw her arms around his neck. Caradoc was left standing awkwardly, his arms pinned to his sides, his eyes wide and his face red.

'There, there,' he said, patting her on the back. It was what his mother used to do when he cut his knee and ran into the kitchen crying, so he supposed it must be the thing one did in this sort of position.

It seemed to do the trick. Thankfully, Kate stopped crying and let go, her eyes red and puffy and her face streaked with tears. She smiled weakly.

'You're a good friend, Caradoc,' she said. 'I don't care what my mother says.'

Caradoc frowned. 'What is _that_, exactly?' he asked.

Kate looked angry again as she thought of her mother. 'She's so stupid. She doesn't know you at all, or your mother. I think it's rude of her to speak of your mother the way that she does. I saw your mother at the music recital, she seemed very nice.'

Caradoc frowned. He knew as well as Kate that adults could be exceptionally weird at times.

'Come on, Caradoc,' Kate said, tugging on his wrist. 'I want to show you something. Don't worry; you can leave your bike there. Come on, this is my special place.'

Caradoc reluctantly allowed himself to be dragged along. Really, he just wanted to go home. Kate negotiated the tree roots and rocks exposed by the course of the creek when it had been a stream. Then the water disappeared around a corner into some thick undergrowth. Kate ducked under the dangling branches of a weeping willow.

'Just through here,' she said, pulling aside another branch to reveal a small opening, just big enough for a fairly small person to slip through. She ducked down and squeezed through the branches, pulling Caradoc in after her.

He straightened up on the other side to find himself in a small clearing, bordered on one side by a deep pool of water collected by the creek. A log straddled the banks, serving as a makeshift bridge. Trees shaded the pool, turning the water a deep, midnight blue. Little swirls of current played across the surface.

Kate let go of Caradoc's hand and sat down halfway across the log bridge. Caradoc followed when she beckoned him, taking the place beside her.

'I come here when little Johnny's screaming,' Kate said softly. 'Or when Mum's screaming. It's so lovely and quiet here.'

Caradoc agreed. The only sounds were the chirping of birds and the subtle _swish_ of the creek as it passed over rocks further downstream.

'It's nice here,' he said. 'I think this is the sort of place that I was hoping to find by exploring.'

Kate smiled at him, though her eyes were still red around the rims from crying.

'Why do you need a place like this?' she asked. 'Isn't it just you and your Mum? You wouldn't make much noise between you, would you?'

Caradoc sighed. 'No, not really,' he admitted. 'Though she can be loud when she wants. I just need a place to think, sometimes. Like today.'

'Everyone should have one of those, I think,' Kate confided.

'Yeah,' Caradoc nodded. 'I think you're right.'

They sat in silence for a few moments. A small fish made ripples move across the smooth surface of the pool, then with a plop disappeared into the depths again.

'Caradoc?' Kate was staring at him, her blue eyes round as the pool that swirled beneath them.

'Yeah?' Caradoc felt suddenly nervous, though he wasn't exactly sure why this was. It may have had something to do with that strange look in Kate's eyes …

'I think you're a really nice boy, Caradoc,' she whispered.

Caradoc swallowed hard. 'Er … thanks,' he stammered. 'I think you're cool, too.'

'You do?'

'Y-yeah, sure. Of-of course.'

A grin broke out across Kate's face. 'You're the best, Caradoc,' she said.

Caradoc was suddenly aware of the time.

'Uh –' He had just opened his mouth to tell Kate that his mother didn't know where he was and would probably be wondering where he was when she moved towards him, quite unexpectedly. He started backwards, away from her approaching mouth and her eyes closed in anticipation, but forgot that they were still sitting on the log –

'Aah!'

He fell backwards towards the water. His arms flailed wildly. He closed his eyes and took a breath; preparing himself to be submerged in the icy water of the creek … it was probably slimy and filthy, too …

'Caradoc!' Kate cried in surprise.

He'd stopped. More extraordinarily, he wasn't wet. He opened his eyes.

'What the …?'

He was _floating_! On air! Ten inches above the surface of the water he was floating, suspended as though by invisible ropes. He looked up into Kate's face, pale with shock.

'It's all right!' he called. 'I'm ok!'

'Caradoc – what's happening?'

'I don't know but –' he laughed– 'it's pretty cool, though, don't you think?'

Kate was trembling. 'It's not!' she cried. 'Stop it right now – it gives me the creeps!'

Caradoc wasn't listening. He reached down his hand to skim the surface of the pool. It was freezing – he jerked his hand away. From his vantage point he could see all sorts of interesting things – fish and tadpoles, slimy, gently waving weeds …

'Caradoc!'

Kate's shout brought him back to reality. The enchantment broke and his stomach dropped away as he was dumped into the pool.

A minute later he was able to drag himself up onto the bank, shivering all over. His soaking pants and tee-shirt clung with almost desperate ferocity to his clammy skin, and he was still choking on the mouthful of disgusting water that he had swallowed as he had gone under.

Kate was instantly at his side.

'Are you all right?' she asked.

'I –' he coughed and spluttered for a little while. 'I think so,' he managed to say.

'What … how did you … where did you … what _happened_?' Kate demanded, pulling him to his feet.

Caradoc shook himself. It was so remarkable, he couldn't even be sure that it _had_ happened. Perhaps it hadn't. He wasn't sure if he could believe the testimony of his own senses.

_Back in 1978, in his London apartment, Caradoc Dearborn studied the morning's paper …_

He frowned. In the background he was vaguely aware of the radio playing.

' … it's a funny old world, isn't it?' the familiar voice of Benjy Fenwick was saying. 'And not a very nice one, sometimes. But you can always unwind and listen to my show – we're on every weekday, broadcasting all over the wizarding world! And someone else who's reaching out to the wizarding world is my very good friend, and yours – here's Caradoc Dearborn, with his new song …'

Caradoc groaned and reached out his hand to flick the radio off. As if Benjy Fenwick hadn't been grating on his nerves enough already. He was not in the mood to listen to his own voice warbling over the wires, and certainly not in the mood to hear Fenwick going on about how they were such good friends. The guy was just annoying; and that was saying something as Caradoc was not very easily annoyed.

He went back to the paper with a sigh. He wasn't quite sure exactly what was going on with Hestia being engaged to Malfoy, but it sounded like her plan was falling down around her ears. It sounded like just the sort of situation that James would try to interfere in, and hopefully he would do it soon, and get Hestia the hell out of there. Caradoc was inclined to put his trust in James when it came to such things. He had to admit that he was probably no help to Hestia whatsoever when it came to her current predicament.

He was no help to anyone – just a famous face. Throwing the paper back onto the kitchen table he headed toward the piano which sat in one corner of the room and sat down. His fingers raced a scale without thinking.

He'd never been very good at magic, but he more than made up for it with musical talent. He'd always felt that magic lacked that passion inherent to music. There was no comparison.

The reason he'd never really been any good at school work was that he'd always wanted more from magic than he was able to get out of it. It wasn't like music. You couldn't lose yourself in a spell.

You could lose yourself in love. You could lose yourself so completely that you didn't even realise what was happening. But while he would never forget how to play the piano, he knew that love was not quite so easy to hold onto. And it was so easy to make a mistake, to lose sight of what was really important …

He hoped that Hestia was all right. He wished that he could be the one to come to her rescue – but for now he had to be content to let James take that role.

_The village of Skenfrith, in the summer of 1973._

'Caradoc! Are you going to sit up there on the bank all day?'

Caradoc smiled down at his old friend Kate, who was wading in the river below. He liked to use the summer to forget about being a wizard, and Kate worked wonders in that department. He'd told her that he went to a fancy boarding school up north – which was true, at least – and she knew not to press him for details.

There was only one thing that kept him in contact with the magical world over the holidays, and that was Hestia's constant supply of letters. Two weeks in and she'd already sent four. And the other thing was, if she didn't get replies, she would start to send Howlers. Not wanting to have to explain a screaming red envelope to his mother and certainly not to Kate, Caradoc was currently in the process of penning a reply to Hestia's latest stream of complaints about her brothers, her mother, and the relentless boredom of spending the summer without him.

He tried to sympathise, but the truth was he was having a grand time. At least he could say with some degree of certainty that he would be having an even better time if they were together – he missed her, and that was the truth. But apart from that he had a hard job sounding apologetic.

'I've just got to write this letter to Hestia,' he told Kate, who scrambled up the bank to join him, her tanned legs sparkling with droplets of water from the stream, her long blonde hair hanging loose around her shoulders. 'She'll go mad if I don't reply straight away.'

Kate grinned. 'You talk an awful lot about this Hestia,' she said knowingly, nudging him in the ribs. 'Is she your _girlfriend_?'

Caradoc rolled his eyes. 'Contrary to popular belief, she is in fact _not_ my girlfriend,' he said, mildly annoyed that even someone who had never met Hestia was making this connection. He'd lost count of the people at school who hadn't believed him when he'd tried to explain that he and Hestia were not in any way a couple. 'She's my best friend. We're really close, but not … like that.'

'All right, I get it,' Kate laughed. 'She's not your girlfriend. Is she pretty?'

Caradoc shot her a bemused look. 'I guess. I'm of the opinion that a bloke shouldn't really think about his best mate like that. Why do you care?'

Kate shrugged. 'Just curious. I've never known any girl who's been able to keep up being 'just friends' with a boy she cares about, that's all.'

'Hestia and I aren't like that – we're just mates,' Caradoc assured her. 'Besides, you and I are friends, aren't we?'

Kate laughed again, a bubbly sound not unlike that made by the stream that gurgled past them at the bottom of the bank. It made her brown eyes glimmer in the mid-afternoon sun.

'Don't be ridiculous, Caradoc – I've had a crush on you for years,' she grinned. 'You must have noticed – you're not that dense.'

Caradoc forgot all about Hestia's letter.

'Are you serious?'

'I'm hardly likely to joke about something like that, Caradoc,' she said, still smiling benignly at him. 'We may only see each other once a year, but I've always sort of liked you, and every summer we spend together …' she shrugged. 'You probably think I'm just some silly girl, and I don't expect that I measure up to Hestia. But you know … it's something to think about, isn't it?'

Caradoc didn't quite know what to say.


	6. Bonds Between Strangers

I got … 3 reviews. Woot!

Check out my Sirius oneshot about hunting Peter! It's called 'Ratted Out'. It's got no reviews – I'd love to hear what you guys think!

I've been reading a lot of fanfic lately (writer's block – what can you do?) and have come to the conclusion that I love James. In fact, he may be my favourite Harry Potter canon character (as Caradoc doesn't exactly count). Coming in at a close second are Neville and Remus.

Gotta love Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrel. I spoke with a British accent for hours upon completion of that book. Wonderful stuff, everyone should read it. Particularly Pottery people.

Malfoy's a git.

Sorry I took so long with this, btw. I had to be in the right mood to write the more tragic parts. The worst bits I ended up writing like, a sentence a day.

And now, to celebrate more than 250 hits to the story (let's not think about reviews), an extra long chapter!

This chapter: Finally some plot! (kinda) Answers to some questions! (sort of) Horrible, horrible foreshadowing! (there really will be some of that) Read on, my adoring fans (that is, Sunni, Baccus and Olivia (lol, love you guys, seriously, big ups to you!), as the grisly tale unfolds …

After this chapter, the flashbacks will be cut back a bit. We're almost at the end of the back story, yay! I think there's … two more plot points to go before it becomes purely 1978. Yeah, that sounds right. Unless I think of more.

OMG the foreshadowing in this chapter! I am the master! (lol)

Disclaimer: Not mine. JK Rowling's. She's better. Read her books. Give her money and praise. Worship the ground upon which she walks.

**Chapter the Sixth: Bonds between Strangers**

_The Hogsmeade residence of Miss Hestia Jones, Wednesday November 16th, 1978…_

The owl was back.

Hestia stood in the doorway to her living room. She couldn't move. Caradoc's owl – scrawny, ruffled creature that it was – stared back at her with a confused expression. It was just an owl, after all. It didn't know why its appearance in her life was even more unwelcome than usual. It couldn't know that its very presence in her living room at that particular moment was enough to make her feel physically ill.

It was just an owl. It wasn't – it _couldn't_ be a sign.

Caradoc would have seen the announcement in the paper that morning. That would be it. He was so sentimental at times.

He would think that she was actually in love with Malfoy.

She reached out for the doorframe to support herself. The emotion welling up inside her was excruciating. How could he believe that? Did he not know her at all? Did no one? Was she really all alone?

Her tears were hot. She sank to the floor, sobbing. A part of her had hoped that Caradoc, of all the people she had ever known, would always understand her. But she had been wrong there, hadn't she?

She had James on her side, and Sirius. A pitifully small group of allies, really. She wasn't even particularly sure that she trusted either of them. And James … he had his wife to think about. He couldn't be there for her unconditionally. No matter how much he thought of her as the sister he'd never had, he wasn't her brother.

The owl hopped off the coffee table and made its way over to where she sat crying. It pecked gently at her hand.

She turned her watery eyes on it. It hooted softly at her.

The owl reminded her so much of Caradoc that it made her heart ache. Blinking back more tears, she untied the slip of parchment that was tied to its leg. Relieved of its duty, the owl hooted gratefully. But it didn't leave straight away like it normally did.

Hestia held the carefully rolled note in her hands. There was no envelope, just this slip of paper. His all-too-familiar handwriting greeted her as she unrolled it, blurred by the tears which still clouded her eyes.

_Hess,_

_Don't give up. I'm here if you ever need me._

_Please don't forget._

_Your loving friend,_

_Caradoc._

Hestia subsided into sobs again. The owl nudged her right hand, as though it wanted her to write a reply.

Eventually she managed to compose herself. She waved her arm to startle the owl away. It fluttered back to the coffee table, hooting reproachfully.

'I'm not talking to him,' she told it. 'I promised myself I wouldn't. So you can go on back to him empty handed. I don't care how long he told you to wait. I'm not going to feed you.'

The owl hooted again but remained stubbornly where it was.

She stood and drew her wand, placing the tip of it to the note Caradoc had sent.

'Your decision,' she muttered. '_Incendio_.'

_February 1974, the Restricted Section …_

Caradoc squinted at the bookshelves, looking for the title he had hastily scrawled on a piece of paper. He was failing Defence Against the Dark Arts and without Hestia's help he would need this book to make up the extra credit in his NEWT exam.

He wished she would get over it already. He couldn't even work out what she was so mad about. It had been a month, and she was still making a point of getting up and leaving the room whenever he entered it. Caradoc wanted to talk to someone, see if she had said anything – but the only person he could think of was James Potter, and James was always busy with Lily Evans these days.

He wished that Hestia would just _tell_ him what was wrong so he could fix it … he was confused, too, and needed his best friend right now. He couldn't work it out … surely she could understand why he hadn't said anything … it had to be more complicated than that …

Sighing to himself, he finally located the tome he had been searching for. He pulled it out, accidentally taking with it a slim volume that had been squashed between the defence book and a thick leather volume with a nasty-looking stain on the cover. He bent down to pick it up and was just about to put it back on the shelf when the title caught his eye.

_Spellbound: The tale of a Wizard lost within his own magic._

Caradoc frowned and flicked to the first page, after glancing around quickly to check that no one was watching. He was supposed to find his book and get out … but a quick peek couldn't hurt.

There was a short disclaimer just inside the cover.

_Friend, beware, take heed of my tale,_

_Learn from mistakes, succeed where I fail._

_When life overwhelms you, remember my fate._

_When your love deserts you, it isn't too late._

Intrigued, Caradoc read the first few paragraphs of the main text. It read like a muggle novel – a young man, rejected by the woman he loved, was searching for a spell to take the edge off the heartache.

'You there! Have you found that book yet?'

Hastily, Caradoc shoved the thinner volume deep inside the book he had come for.

'Yes, I've got it!' he called back to the librarian, quickly heading back to the main desk.

_Number 12, Grimmauld Place, November 17th, 1978 …_

'You could always have her killed, Cissy,' Bellatrix drawled in a bored voice.

'Lucius would find out,' Narcissa snapped, glaring at the announcement which had occupied her entire attention that week. 'But I have to do _something_. If that little harpy gets his ring he'll never learn to appreciate _me._'

Bellatrix rolled her eyes. The sisters were sitting in one of the guest bedrooms in Grimmauld Place, where Narcissa had been staying for the past week.

'Remind me again why Lucius Malfoy is so important to you?' Bella asked wearily. 'One pureblood wizard is the same as any other, little sister. Find the first one who takes an interest and stick with him – that's what I did.'

Narcissa scowled.

'And while that seems to be working out _fabulously_ for you, Bella,' she muttered scathingly, 'you'll forgive me if my standards are just a bit higher than yours.'

Bella tutted loudly.

'I still don't see what you're so hung up on, Cissy,' she scolded. 'You act as though you're in love with him.'

There was a loaded pause.

'Don't be ridiculous, Bella,' Narcissa snapped, but a red tinge creeping over her pale cheeks betrayed her.

'Ha!' Bella exclaimed triumphantly. 'You are in love with him! You silly girl.' The older woman's laughter was cruel and cold. 'You must really hate that Jones girl,' she added with a smirk.

'Of course I do,' Narcissa retorted. 'She took him right out from under my nose! Her and her absurd mother. _Our _mother was on the brink of arranging a courtship, and before anyone could do anything about it, Janine Jones had set up her own daughter in my place! Her mother disowned her, but the engagement still stands! It should be _me_, Bella! Hestia Jones could not hope to measure up to me – but I still have to get Lucius to see that!'

Bella was still smirking to herself.

'Calm down, Cissy. There'll be a way.'

'How can you be so sure?' Narcissa demanded. 'I've tried it all! I've tried discrediting her, I've tried making it look as though we were already having an affair – I've even tried threatening her! She won't budge!'

Bella laughed. 'She's not that strong, little sister, believe me. It's only a matter of finding her weakness and … exploiting it. I'll go and talk to our dear cousin Regulus – perhaps he will have some insights.'

Narcissa shrugged dejectedly. 'Good luck finding him. His hiding places have only grown more secret as he's grown older.'

Bella smiled. 'Don't worry, Cissy. I don't think it will be as difficult as you propose.'

_That evening, in the Wizard's Familiar, the wizarding world's favourite pianist (and ours too) is warming up …_

It was a pretty good crowd. He'd already been cornered by Horace Slughorn, who was just the same as ever; and Benjy Fenwick, who, unfortunately for Caradoc at least, was also being his old self. He'd gladly escaped to the stage.

It was a funny thing, performing. It was like being hidden in plain sight. You could be anyone on stage, and people would believe it … even if you were just being yourself. But tonight it would be different. Already, a strange feeling was in the air, although he wouldn't have been surprised to find that he was the only one who noticed it. He kept scanning the tables, but Hestia had not yet arrived.

He played the intro to one of his more recent songs. It was a slow, sad tune. Well, most of his songs were sad anyway, he conceded. And tonight – well, tonight no one could blame him for letting out a bit of his depression. Perhaps if he sang loudly enough and with enough emotion it might even get through to Hestia …

The audience clapped politely as the song drew to a close. Caradoc saw a few of them dab at their eyes with their napkins.

He scanned the tables again.

She still hadn't arrived. He sighed and went back to the keyboard. Perhaps she would persuade Malfoy to go somewhere else for dinner. She could be extremely persuasive when she wanted to be – Caradoc knew that well enough. He played the beginning of the next song, hoping desperately that she would turn up … he had been counting on seeing her tonight …

The chords in the chorus melted into one another and, as the music filled the room, Caradoc's concentration drifted away from the dimly-lit tables in the audience back into his own private thoughts. He remembered how he had felt as he had written this song. He remembered everything about that day – the smell of the tea that had sat next to his right hand as he had scribbled lyrics on an old scrap of parchment, the peculiar grey hue of the light that had filtered through from the overcast sky outside … even the taste of the end of his quill, which he had been biting as he thought about what to write next. And he remembered Hestia … all of his songs were about her, on some level. As the melody swelled to a crescendo, he pictured her face, the last time she had spoken to him … four years, ten months and seventeen days ago … with tears running down her cheeks and a scowl etched on her delicate features.

It was a wonder, he thought later, with all his concentration locked into the song, that he noticed the change at all. But then, Hestia never had any trouble making her presence known. His voice faltered a little as he looked up, knowing who he would see.

She took the seat that Malfoy obligingly held out for her. She looked just as he remembered her. She was determinedly not looking at the stage.

He took a deep breath and tore his eyes away before launching into the final chorus. He could not let himself be found out. Even if it took every ounce of willpower that he possessed, he could not afford to dwell on Hestia's presence in the room. He had to remember why they were both there in the first place. He had to remember what was at stake. He had to keep his distance, watch but not stare …

'_Who am I kidding?'_ he thought miserably, as the song drew to a close.

He privately thought that he would be lucky if his resolve lasted until intermission.

_And now to New Year's Eve; four years, ten months and 17 days ago; to the night where everything went horribly wrong (TRAGEDY WARNING) … _

'I hate these things, you know,' Hestia remarked conversationally, looking around at their fellow students, who were busy enjoying Professor Slughorn's annual New Year's party.

Caradoc laughed.

'I know, you've already told me twice tonight,' he reminded her. 'If it's any consolation, I'm not all that fond of them myself. And I'm very grateful that you agreed to come with me, especially seeing as Benjy Fenwick asked you to be his date.' He sent her a look loaded with meaning.

Hestia glanced at him with a sheepish look in her eye.

'You know about that, huh?'

He shrugged. 'Might've heard it mentioned about the place. I think James Potter said something.'

'Like what?'

Caradoc rolled his eyes. 'Just the same thing he always says about you and me, accompanied by the usual blatant sexual innuendo.'

Hestia laughed.

'Git,' she said decisively. 'Him and Fenwick both, in fact.'

'Yes, well; I can't speak for Fenwick, but I doubt we'll be seeing much of James tonight,' Caradoc said, nodding out towards the dance floor, where James Potter was currently engrossed in a very intimate conversation with Lily Evans.

'Yes, about that: when did they become that cosy?' Hestia wanted to know.

'Not sure,' Caradoc admitted. 'Good for James, though.'

'It's a bit sickening really, if you ask me,' Hestia said, making a face. Caradoc laughed.

Hestia turned to him with a sudden grin.

'I don't suppose you want to dance?'

Caradoc replied with a grin of his own. 'I don't suppose I have a choice in the matter?'

She laughed and shook her head as she grabbed his hand and all but dragged him out onto the floor.

Caradoc had to admit that despite all previous experience he was enjoying this party. This might, he suspected, have something to do with the fact that Hestia was in such a good mood – she'd been acting oddly the past few days, and it was refreshing that she'd finally decided to just get it together and have some fun. He wasn't sure exactly what it was that had been bothering her. He had hoped that perhaps she would tell him in her own time.

But then, she hadn't said a word about Benjy inviting her to the ball … he'd had to find out through James … it wasn't like her to keep secrets like that …

Caradoc tried not to think about it. She would have her reasons, no doubt. Perhaps it had just slipped her mind. It was probably some little thing, like schoolwork; something she hadn't thought to bother him with. If it had been really important, she would have said something. She knew she could tell him anything – after all, what were best friends for?

The song slowed, and so too were the dancers forced to slow down. Caradoc caught Hestia's eye and grinned. She giggled and blushed prettily.

It was strange, really, that Fenwick had been the only one to ask her out. Not really surprising, though, Caradoc reminded himself – considering that most of the school considered the pair of them to be an item. It was a shame, he found himself thinking … at least, it was a shame for Hestia, who he knew could actually be quite shy about that sort of thing even if she really didn't have an excuse for it. _I mean, she's really gorgeous, _Caradoc thought idly, wondering if he should tell her so. _It probably wouldn't mean very much, coming from me. _

_She is pretty, though. If we weren't best friends …_

_But we are. _

_And that's more important than anything else._

_Oh, and there's also Kate to consider._

Kate … he scolded himself for forgetting. All year he'd been writing letters and signing them, '_Yours, Caradoc,_' – which was about as affectionate as he could manage, without being ridiculous. It was difficult keeping up a long-distance relationship, particularly as he hadn't told Kate that he was a wizard.

He hadn't told Hestia about Kate, either. A part of him really hoped that she'd never find out, although he supposed that she would have to sooner or later. He didn't really want to tell her about it because he wasn't sure how she'd react. With Hestia, no one could ever really be sure.

And, well … ok, that wasn't the real reason. He wasn't sure why he hadn't said anything about Kate to Hestia. He just hadn't for so long that it would be weird if he brought it up now … wouldn't it?

'Geez, Potter. Get a room,' Hestia muttered.

Caradoc laughed as he glanced over at Lily and James.

'Don't look, it's disgusting!' Hestia giggled, hitting him on the shoulder.

'Ow, hey! Oh, come on, Hess. Even you have to admit, it's about bloody time,' he pointed out.

She smiled slyly.

'Must be something in the air, huh?' She said. There was a strange sparkle in her eye that Caradoc hadn't seen before.

He shot her a bemused smile. 'What's that supposed to mean?'

She just shook her head, still smiling as she glanced around at the dancing couples.

'Do you think we could sneak away now without anyone noticing?' she asked.

Caradoc grinned. 'Where would we go?'

She shrugged, a mischievous little smile playing around her mouth. 'Oh, I don't know. Just … somewhere that's just you and me; and anywhere that isn't here.'

'All right. Let's go.'

She grabbed his hand and they slipped out of Slughorn's office, their laughter echoing in the corridor as they ran.

Several floors up from the party and across the other side of the castle, Hestia pulled Caradoc into an empty classroom that had an amazingly high ceiling and an absolutely massive window which stretched right to the top of it, letting in the silvery light from the three-quarter moon. Letting go of Caradoc's hand, Hestia ran over to the window.

'Look, you can see right over the lake from here!'

Caradoc grinned as he came up behind her.

'Hey, yeah.'

There was a comfortable silence as they stared out across the grounds together. Neither would have guessed that this would be their last moment like this for a long time – least of all Caradoc.

Hestia eventually turned to him with a coy smile, that same strange look in her eye as before.

'So … we haven't had a chance to talk since … the other day.'

Caradoc frowned. 'The other day?'

'Yeah, _you know_. I just … well, maybe I'm just being a daft girl, but I'd like to chat about it if that's all right with you.'

She was looking at him expectantly. Caradoc searched for the memory of what she was talking about – obviously he was supposed to know – but couldn't come up with anything. Trying not to look too blank about it, he nodded.

'All right,' he said slowly. 'What's on your mind?'

She smiled in an almost shy way.

'I guess I just wanted to say that, well – you're very important to me, Caradoc. You're the only person who ever lets me be me, and you never expect me to be someone that I'm not. And that's why you're my best friend – no matter what, you'll always be important to me, and I want you to know that nothing will ever change that.'

He smiled bemusedly. 'Hess, you know – that is … I mean, not that I'm not touched or anything, but … why do you feel that you have to tell me all this now?'

She shrugged. 'I dunno. I guess I thought … I mean, if that's what's been holding you back – I understand, but I thought you should know that whatever happens between us, we can always be friends.'

He frowned. 'O-kay,' he said slowly. 'Er … thanks. I think.'

She grinned and threw her arms around his neck, embracing him tightly. He patted her back awkwardly.

She pulled back, her eyes oddly bright. Caradoc offered her a smile.

'Are you all right, Hess?' he asked.

'Better than that,' she told him.

She kissed him before he had time to think.

He stopped trying to understand why she was acting so strangely.

He stopped thinking about anything at all for a second.

Then his wits caught up with him, and he pushed her away.

'What … what on earth?'

She was smiling, but her eyes betrayed some of the confusion that Caradoc felt.

'I thought we were on the same page here, Caradoc,' she said slowly. 'Did I get it wrong?'

He stared. 'It's not that … well, I mean – you're my best friend, and I had a great time tonight, but … but I never … I didn't know I was – what _page_ do you think we're on?'

Her smile disappeared and she frowned.

'Well, clearly we're on a different one to the one we were on four days ago in the common room,' she said dangerously.

'What?' Caradoc's head reeled. He didn't remember ever giving out that kind of signal …

'When you kissed me,' she said pointedly.

He gaped at her.

'When I _what_?'

She set her jaw. 'You. Kissed. Me. I'm hardly likely to forget something like that, Caradoc.'

'I don't know what you're talking about!' he insisted.

She glared at him.

'If this is a joke, Caradoc, it's not a very funny one,' she said coldly.

'It's not a joke! You think I would joke about something like this?'

'Well, since I kissed someone who looked and sounded a lot like you four days ago in the common room; I would have to say that yes, it sounds like a likely conclusion!'

Caradoc took a step back, feeling very put out. He _hadn't_ kissed her – he was sure he hadn't. He would certainly remember … but if he hadn't kissed her, who had?

'I swear to you, Hestia, I never –'

But she had had enough. With one final scathing look of disgust in his direction, she headed for the door. Caradoc moved quickly, catching her arm just as she was about to wrench open the door.

'Please, you've got to believe me! Why would I do something like that to you? When have I ever – I've got a girlfriend, for heaven's sake!'

She stared at him, a look of absolute horror outlined on her fine features.

'_What?_'

'In Wales, it's this muggle girl – look, I was _going_ to tell you –'

'_How could you keep something like that from me?_'

'I don't know, Hess; I guess it just never came up …'

'I can't believe this!'

Caradoc frowned at her. 'Well, you've clearly been keeping things from me!' he accused.

'What are you – oh, don't you _dare_ think you're getting away with that!' she screamed. 'Even _you_ aren't that dense, Caradoc! You must've realised that I had feelings for you – I've never tried to be too subtle about it! Merlin's Beard! I'm anything but! You must have known!'

'I had no idea!' Caradoc protested.

'Of course you did, you liar!' she screeched, prodding his chest with her finger. 'You did, and you thought you'd make me look like an idiot! Well, congratulations. You have succeeded in making me feel like one. I'll be more careful in the future.'

She tried to leave again. Caradoc grabbed her and tried to make her look at him.

'Hestia, don't do this – '

She wrenched herself free of his grip.

'You're not who I thought you were, after all,' she said, her quiet voice at its most icy. Before he could object, she had swept from the room.

_And so in 1978, nearly five years after that tragic day, Hestia Jones walks back to her Hogsmeade flat, arm in arm with Lucius Malfoy …_

Malfoy was doing all the talking. Hestia had barely spoken all night. It had been difficult enough without having to concentrate on the inane conversation that her 'fiancé' liked to keep up across the dinner table. Not that he would ever notice her lack of contribution – he liked the sound of his own voice far too much for that.

They reached her little flat, with its tiny patch of herb garden out the front and its cracked and mouldy concrete path up to the door. She turned to Malfoy to say goodnight.

'I hope you enjoyed the entertainment tonight, my dear,' he smiled.

She did her best to look indifferent. 'It's not really my sort of music,' she said haughtily.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. 'I heard somewhere that you had a relationship of sorts with Dearborn a few years back,' he said carefully.

She caught his eye and laughed decisively.

'Hardly a _relationship_, Lucius,' she scoffed. 'We were friends, after a fashion. More like acquaintances, really. I haven't spoken to him in years – it's doubtful that he even remembers me.'

'Ah, I imagined something of the sort,' Malfoy smiled. 'Narcissa has been known to exaggerate the truth.'

Hestia frowned. 'When did _Narcissa_ tell you all this?'

Malfoy shrugged. 'I don't remember – what does it matter?'

'I don't appreciate the way she acts around me,' Hestia said, and for once she didn't have to act – the dislike she felt towards Narcissa Black was absolutely real.

'Narcissa? I doubt she means any harm by it, Hestia.'

'I'm certain that she _does,_' Hestia muttered.

Malfoy frowned.

'What exactly are you suggesting, Hestia?'

'You know damn well what I'm suggesting!' she exclaimed. She knew she probably had no good reason to shout at him tonight, but it felt god to vent her frustrations on him all the same. 'She's always trying to undermine me, Lucius, and frankly I wish that you would stay well away from her!'

Malfoy surveyed her coldly.

'You have no right to tell me who I am or am not allowed to socialise with, Hestia,' he said.

Hestia glared at him.

'Just go,' she said quietly. 'Leave me alone. I've had enough of your company for one night.'

'Likewise,' Malfoy murmured. 'Good night to you.'

And with a loud crack, he disapparated, leaving Hestia alone on her porch.

The night was suddenly cold and empty. She knew she should go inside, make herself a cup of tea, calm her nerves – but she couldn't move.

She couldn't believe how difficult one evening could be. After all she'd been through, after all she'd seen in the past few years, _tonight_ had been the hardest she'd had to live through. Sickened with herself, she shut her eyes and waited for the world to stop spinning around her.

A moment later, her eyes snapped open. A breeze made a bush shiver by the garden gate. The feeling of a moment passed and she shook herself.

'Being silly,' she sighed. Finally she turned around to let herself into the house.

The first thing she saw was Caradoc's owl, which had refused to leave after its delivery. She groaned to herself as the bird flew towards her and settled on her shoulder, hooting incessantly. The noise gave her an instant headache.

Unable to take it, she pushed the scruffy little owl out the door and slammed it shut. Taking a deep breath, she waved her wand to turn on the lights in the kitchen. The flat was freezing. She shrugged off her coat and miserably tossed it aside.

She paused.

She frowned to herself.

She turned and pulled open the front door.

They stared at each other.

'Er … hi,' Caradoc murmured sheepishly.

Hestia slammed the door shut in his face.

_Still reading? How about a review? The button's right there … go on … you know you want to …_


	7. Mistaken

Sorry to leave you guys hanging there. Except not really, because I quite enjoyed the dramatic effect.

For those thinking that Hestia was overreacting just a little bit, there's something in this chapter to sort that out … she's a little misguided, but not a completely spiteful creature. Did you ever notice how young adolescent boys can manage to make any bad situation about a billion times worse? Poor Caradoc is no exception. And it doesn't help that teenage girls can be ridiculously obtuse.

I have a Tonks family obsession at the moment, as many of you may know. Read the fruit of this attack of plot bunnies in 'One Black Sheep,' which is basically going to end up as one giant attack of cuteness. I can't help it. I love them. They could … maybe … turn up in this story. It's definitely a possibility. I just don't know where, or when. Or how. Or why. Here's something: if I find a way to put them in, I'll get you a Remus cameo as well.

Remus oneshot is finally up! James oneshot is the next project!

Writing this chapter was possibly the most fun I've ever had with fanfiction, or perhaps the second most fun, after the extremely amazing moment when I created Caradoc's character. It's a slightly different format to previous chapters, but the flashback was a particularly long one, and had to be told from the POV of three different characters, so … find out for yourself.

Oh, and yay for random plot twists!

Disclaimer: as usual, JK Rowling takes all credit and profit for Harry Potter. I wish it were me, but there you are.

**Chapter the Seventh: Mistaken**

_For once, let's pick it up where we left off last time …_

She took a few deep breaths to get over the shock. Then she set her jaw and yanked the door back open, clutching her wand firmly in her right hand.

'What _the hell_ are you doing here?' she demanded, advancing on him. He stepped backwards, nearly tripping over the invisibility cloak that trailed behind him.

'Hestia, please, I didn't mean –'

'Didn't mean what? Didn't mean for me to see you?' She snatched the invisibility cloak from his hands and gave it a disgusted look. 'Is this … did you get this from _James Potter_?'

'I … I'm just … please, Hestia …'

She threw the cloak aside.

'I cannot believe you! What on _earth_ did you think you were doing? Following me home! Do you even _know_ what would happen if Malfoy got even the _slightest_ inclination of your presence?'

She watched as he swallowed forcefully.

'I just wanted to make sure –'

'For Merlin's sake, I can look after myself! I don't want or need you or anyone else sneaking around behind me! And you can bloody well tell Potter that, too!' She turned to storm back inside.

'I had to make sure that you were safe!' he called desperately after her.

She paused on the porch, her hand on the doorknob.

'No one's safe anymore, Caradoc,' she said quietly. 'We do our best, but none of us are safe. You put us both in more danger by following me tonight.'

She heard him take a few steps toward her down the gravel path.

'I had to do it,' he said carefully. 'I know you can take care of yourself, Hestia – but I had to see you home safely. For my own peace of mind.'

She turned with a glare, carefully polished after years of dealing with Malfoy. 'And so Potter just happened to turn up so he could let you borrow his cloak?'

Caradoc sighed and looked at his shoes. 'You know James would never let you do this alone,' he said wearily. 'He set up my gig tonight, it's true, and he asked me to keep an eye on you – but honestly, I'd be here sooner or later without his interference and you know it.'

Hestia's glare faded slightly as she surveyed his familiar features. Everything that had happened between them seemed so very long ago, and she, at least, knew that it wasn't even the reason they were apart anymore.

'You're the last person who should be involved in this,' she said, nearly choking on the words.

He attempted something like a smile, though it still managed to come out looking sad.

'What about you?' he murmured. 'I'm half-blood, Hestia. This is my war.'

Their eyes locked.

Hestia sighed.

'Take my advice,' she warned. 'Get out while you still can.'

And with that she went back inside and shut the door. She leaned against it, waiting for her rapid pulse to slow. There was a strange, loaded pause.

'It shouldn't be like this,' Caradoc's defeated voice came through the door.

She didn't reply. She didn't move. She listened carefully for the sound of his retreating footsteps on the garden path. She couldn't hear a thing.

Eventually, frowning, she opened the door and peered out.

The night was cold and empty. She stared, a part of her wondering if she hadn't just imagined the entire confrontation.

She looked down. A slip of parchment that looked as though it had been torn from the evening's programme was wedged under the doormat. Hestia retrieved it and turned it over.

Caradoc's neat, precise handwriting greeted her.

_I'm not going anywhere._

_Yours, Caradoc._

She stood outside in the cold air for a little while, wondering what she should do. A part of her wanted to reduce the note to ashes. Another part wanted to go inside and never, ever come out again.

Yet another wished that Caradoc would reappear from under James's invisibility cloak and with one sentence negate everything that had transpired between them all those years ago, as well as everything that had happened since.

She shivered. As if her life hadn't been complicated enough.

_Three days after Christmas 1973, in Hestia's seventh year …_

Hestia lounged casually by the fire in the Ravenclaw common room, a bottle of butterbeer in her hand. A textbook lay on her lap, but she had given up trying to study a good twenty minutes ago. She yawned and smiled tiredly to herself, wondering vaguely where Caradoc had got to. He was probably up in his dormitory, she thought. Maybe she would go and chat to him.

Just give it another five minutes by the fire.

She yawned again and shut her eyes. Most people had gone home for the Christmas holidays – parents wanted their children at home, where they could keep a watchful eye – so the common room was deserted. She wondered if perhaps she might have a little nap right here, it was so peaceful …

They would be coming home tomorrow, though, or the next day, for Slughorn's New Year's Eve party. She would have gone home herself, but her parents were being absolutely insufferable lately because she'd refused to go along with her mother's idea for a debutante ball. She wrinkled up her nose in disgust at the very thought. She'd barely come of age, and they were already talking about marrying her off. It was positively nauseating, never mind archaic.

Caradoc had very generously agreed to stay behind with her, even though she knew he had wanted to go home. As a consolation, she'd agreed to be his date to Slughorn's, although they both knew that it was the only tolerable solution. Hestia thought for a moment about this. She and Caradoc were still nothing more than best friends; _officially_ at least, no matter what gossip had been circulating through the Hogwarts rumour mill. She wasn't the kind of girl to put that particular question out on the table, really; no matter how she felt about him. She had always been rather shy about that sort of thing.

He probably didn't even realise that she felt that way – although surely he _must_. They knew each other so well by now … he surely couldn't be that dense. As to why he'd never said anything … he was quite shy too, wasn't he? Certainly not the kind of boy to try to suggest anything of that nature. Caradoc knew her well enough that he knew she would come around to that with time.

Yes, she decided. He trusted her like that. She smiled to herself. She would have to be the one to bring it up, as Caradoc never would. She thought that perhaps she should say something to him before the party – sort of ease him into it, give him something to think about …

As far as she could gather, he wouldn't be absolutely against the idea of … _extending_ their friendship. Oh, he might have some concerns about it becoming awkward or something – Caradoc always thought of things like that – but she was reasonably sure he'd at least give it a go. There was something in his eyes that suggested that she wasn't just imagining it.

She hoped that she was right, anyway. But if she wasn't … well, she'd deal with that. It wouldn't be the end of the world.

As though on cue, she heard someone enter the room and twisted a little in her seat so she could see them. It was Caradoc. She grinned and waved him over.

'Caradoc! Over here!'

He looked a little surprised to see her, for some reason. After a moment's hesitation, he came and took the seat next to her on the sofa.

'Er … hey, Hestia,' he said with a smile. Hestia frowned slightly, as he was acting oddly.

'Are you all right?' she asked. 'Where have you been?'

'I'm fine – I've just been … in the library, researching that Charms essay. Er … yeah.'

Hestia laughed. 'Are you mad? Why didn't you sit in here and study with me, instead?'

He shrugged, avoiding her look. 'Yes, I could have … but it doesn't look like you've been getting much done, does it?' He nodded towards the textbook which she'd casually tossed aside.

She sighed happily. 'I suppose you're right. I've been sitting here by the fire – it's been wonderful.' She yawned for a third time and, on a sudden impulse, leaned her head on his shoulder. He stiffened, and then relaxed. At least _that_ was normal.

The hand that slowly crept around her waist wasn't … but, grinning, she decided that she could live with it. It seemed that her musings on his intentions had been spot on.

'Well, I'm glad you've been having a good old lazy time,' he said with a smile, squeezing her gently. 'I've got to put these things in my room, so …' He patted his bag and made to stand up. In a moment of inspiration, Hestia pulled him back.

'Wait,' she said. He looked at her inquiringly.

'What's up?'

'Caradoc …' she sought out his eyes. She'd always liked his eyes.

'Yes?'

'What exactly are we?'

There, she'd said it. His eyes widened a little in surprise.

'I'm … I'm sorry?'

'_You know_,' she said, hoping desperately that he did, and that she didn't sound like she was just avoiding saying it out loud. 'You and me. Are we … are we, you _know _…' she searched desperately for the right words.

He frowned at her for a moment, looking slightly uncomfortable. She bit her lip, unable to come up with the words for what they were, or what she _hoped_ they were …

Suddenly he smiled.

In one movement, he caught her chin in his right hand and kissed her decisively. Her heart filled with happiness until she thought that she might explode.

When they broke apart, he was smiling. He held her face close to hers.

'I think you know what I think,' he said.

She laughed weakly. 'Yes,' she murmured, still half in shock. 'You make yourself perfectly clear.'

'Good.' He grinned and picked up his bag, leaving her feeling slightly cold when he moved the heat of his body away. 'I'll be back in a moment.'

He jumped up and disappeared up the stairs to his dormitory. Hestia settled back into the sofa, her body tingling ever so slightly, her mind blissfully blank, a stupid smile on her face. She had _known _that he felt the same way.

But that didn't mean that she wasn't relieved to find out that she'd been right.

_Meanwhile …_

He scaled the steps two at a time. The door with 'Seventh Years' emblazoned on the brass plaque was right at the very top. He opened it cautiously and peered inside.

Empty. Just as he'd known it would be. No hidden surprises here.

He pulled a piece of parchment out of his pocket and consulted it for a few moments. Grinning, he set his schoolbag down on one of the four beds in the room and removed a small box with care.

Holding this box at arm's length, he slipped it under the sheets and flipped off the lid. He gave it a little shake and then quickly removed his hand.

Something squirmed under the sheets for a moment, and then was still. Grinning to himself, he placed the box back into his bag and headed for the door again. As he reached for the door, he couldn't help glancing at himself in the mirror.

Blue eyes, blond hair, fair skin. He chuckled to himself. But as he grinned, he saw something that made him swallow his laughter.

A patch of blond was darkening quickly. The eyes were loosing their blue, fading back to grey.

His hour was up.

Panicking, he raced back down the stairs and was almost at the common room entrance when he heard Hestia's voice.

'Caradoc? Is everything all right?'

'Er … it's fine!' he called back, already halfway out the door. 'I just left something in the library – back in a bit!'

'Oh … all right,' she said, but he was already gone.

A few corridors away, he leaned against the wall, breathing heavily.

Suddenly, he laughed. It wasn't Caradoc Dearborn's laugh this time – he was completely back to normal.

'You did it, then?' asked a voice. He looked up to see James striding along the corridor towards him.

'Yup,' he said with a grin. 'Perfect plan – Hestia was there, but she couldn't even tell the difference. You know, I think I could really go for Dearborn's life …' he added, laughing. James raised an eyebrow.

'What do you mean by that?'

'Nothing, nothing,' he grinned. 'Come on; let's head back, shall we? I feel like celebrating.'

'Excellent plan, Padfoot. Truly stellar.'

Sirius and James grinned at each other and headed back to the Gryffindor common room, feeling extremely pleased with themselves … Sirius in particular.

_A few moments later, our unsuspecting hero returns to the Ravenclaw common room …_

'There you are!' Hestia exclaimed, as Caradoc entered the common room. He smiled and went over to her.

'I would've been back sooner, but James Potter held me up,' he shrugged, remembering the bizarre conversation he'd just had. 'He must be pulling some prank – he sounded like he was stalling for time.'

'Sounds like Potter all right. Did you find what you were looking for in the library?'

Caradoc nodded, guessing that she meant information for the Charms essay he'd been researching. He was pleasantly surprised, too – he hadn't thought that she'd been listening when he'd told her where he was going.

'Yeah, I got it all right.'

'That's good.' She smiled at him. He frowned slightly – there was an odd look in her eye that he hadn't seen before.

'Are you … all right, Hess?'

She smiled more strangely still. 'Never better,' she said.

He shot her a bemused look before shrugging his shoulders again.

'Well, all right then. It's getting a bit late – I might head off to bed.'

Hestia shifted slightly in her seat. 'You don't want to sit up with me for a bit?' she said, sounding disappointed. He sighed.

'I'd love to, Hess,' he said truthfully. 'But I'm dead tired after going through all those books this evening. I'll see you tomorrow at breakfast, all right?'

'Oh. Yes, I suppose so.'

'All right. Sweet dreams.'

He headed for the staircase that led up to the dormitories, but turned at the last second, remembering something that James had said about Benjy Fenwick while he had been busy stalling.

'Hess?'

'Yeah?'

'We're still going to Slughorn's party together, right?'

She looked up with a grin. 'Of course, you moron!' she exclaimed with a laugh. He grinned.

'I'm glad,' he said. He was, too. Those parties were always horrible unless he had Hestia to talk to, and he knew that she felt the same. 'I just wanted to check with you. Good night.'

'Good night, Caradoc,' she called after him as he ascended the stairs.

_So now that we know exactly how it all went down, let's jump forward to 1978, to a private parlour in the Leaky Cauldron …_

'Caradoc Dearborn. You set _Caradoc Dearborn_ to watch me.'

James sighed. 'I thought it would be for the best –' he protested, but Hestia wasn't listening.

'You sent _Caradoc Dearborn_, knowing full well that he's the _last_ person in this world I want to put in danger. You sent _Caradoc Dearborn_, the one person who could ruin everything.' She glared at him. 'I don't suppose you were planning on explaining your reasoning on this one, Potter?'

'Hold on a second …' James frowned. 'I thought that you hated Caradoc Dearborn? How could he ruin anything?'

Hestia threw her hands into the air and strode towards the window, purposefully away from the confused James.

'He just … he's … he's … look, I never said I _hated_ him.'

'Hestia, you haven't spoken to the bloke in five years.'

She sighed. Yes, she'd been angry at him. For a year and a half – eighteen long months – she'd thought that he had been trying to make a fool of her. It had been unbearable to see him or to speak to him. To think that he had purposely lead her on only to inform her that he had a girlfriend … she couldn't think how it could be anything other than what it seemed.

She'd agreed to be a part of James's plan – to go along with her mother's wishes that she begin to date Lucius – because she believed that she had nothing to lose. She didn't expect that she would ever get over the apparent betrayal at the hands of the boy she had loved so dearly.

'Did you ever consider, James,' she said quietly, 'that the reason I didn't speak to Caradoc for so long was that I was trying to protect him? That I didn't want to bring him into all this?'

James frowned more deeply still. 'You would let him think that you didn't want anything to do with him, just to protect him?'

She sighed again and told him the story – what she had thought, how she had reacted … and then how, eighteen months after the last time she'd spoken to him, Sirius had let slip the truth about that day and how mortified she had been. But by then, it had been too late – she'd been involved with Malfoy.

'You should have told me!' James exclaimed. 'I never knew how you two broke up – I'm sure we could have done something!'

'No, James, don't you see?' Hestia cried, tears streaming down her cheeks at the memory of her biggest mistake. 'That's the point! I can't even imagine what Malfoy would do if he ever found out, and I'm not sure I can keep up a poker face if Caradoc is about! Don't you understand? The closer he is to me, the more danger he's in! We're both in danger! I can pretend that I love that bastard Malfoy, but I can't be expected to pretend that I don't love Caradoc … I can't be responsible if he gets hurt, James, I just can't …'

James embraced her roughly and she sobbed uncontrollably into his shoulder.

'Shh, Hess,' he murmured, patting her back. 'I understand, all right? I'll sort it out, all of it. It's going to be all right, Hess … you'll see, I promise …'

_But just when you thought the day would be saved after all, I'll take you back ten minutes before that, down in the main bar …_

Lily Potter threw off her hood as she approached the barman. She'd had enough of her husband sneaking around behind her back. Whatever he was involved in, he could bloody well involve her, too.

'Mrs Potter!' Tom exclaimed. 'What a pleasure to see you, m'am. What can I get you?'

'You can produce Mr Potter, if you'd be so kind,' Lily said shortly. Tom nearly dropped his glass in shock.

'What … what makes you think that he's here?' he asked, trying unsuccessfully to adopt a casual attitude. Lily fixed him with a piercing glare.

'Don't try anything funny,' she warned. 'I just saw him come in here, and I assume he doesn't have any business in muggle London, so I'm asking you if you would very kindly produce him.'

A greater man than Tom would have quailed at the fury in her eyes.

'I would, m'am,' he said fearfully. 'On'y he said he wasn't to be disturbed, like.'

'_Did_ he?' Her voice raised in pitch and Tom's eyes flashed quickly to her wand hand, which was concealed in the pocket of her robes. 'He wasn't to be disturbed, is that what he told you? Well, you're going to have to make an exception for me, and that's all there is to it. Tell him his _wife_ wants to see him.'

Tom appeared to be conflicted. 'On'y … on'y he was real _particular_, m'am. He said he wasn't to be disturbed by _no one_, not even excepting his wife. He did say that very thing.'

Lily sighed and rolled her eyes before banging a couple of galleons on the bar.

'I'm telling you to make an _exception_,' she said dangerously.

Tom pocketed the money.

'He's on the second floor, m'am, in a private parlour,' he said promptly. 'Second door on your right.'

'Thank you.' Lily went towards the stairs.

'One thing, m'am!' Tom called. She turned.

'There's a young lady in there with him.'

Lily's heart stopped for a second – actually stopped beating. She could tell because when it started up again, it was suddenly a lot more painful than it had been before. Surely James would never …

She swallowed forcefully.

'Thank you, Tom,' she said carefully, turning back towards the staircase. She felt oddly weak. It couldn't be that, no; not her James … he _wouldn't_, he just wouldn't …

At the top of the stairs she could hear a woman's voice, making quite a racket. She stepped forward cautiously, straining her ears to hear what was being said, but she couldn't make it out. She stood outside the door, with her ear pressed against the dark wood. The woman – she still couldn't make out the words – sounded distressed. She began to cry. Lily heard the deep rumble of James's voice say something in reply.

Unable to stand not knowing, Lily drew her wand and pointed it at the door handle.

'_Silencio_,' she whispered. She gently tested it, turning it slowly. It made no sound.

She inched the door open.

'It's going to be all right, Hess … you'll see, I promise …' James was saying. Lily peered around the door.

She nearly gasped out loud at the scene before her. A woman with glossy black hair was sobbing into James's shoulder. He was holding her tenderly, murmuring comforting words, patting her back.

Lily felt suddenly, cripplingly, physically ill. She turned her back on the pair and went to the staircase, not knowing where she would go, but thinking that anywhere that was far away from here would be just fine. By the time she reached the doorway that led out into muggle London, she was running, tears streaming down her cheeks.

The door clicked shut. Hestia looked up.

'What was that?' she asked.

James frowned and went to the door, peering out. He shrugged. 'No one there,' he said.

Hestia sighed and pulled up her hood, wiping her eyes.

'I should go,' she murmured.

James turned around with a concerned expression.

'You'll be all right, Hestia?'

She sighed again and moved past him into the corridor.

'Get Caradoc to stay away from me,' she begged. 'I don't care what you tell him, just make sure he stays well away.'

James nodded reluctantly. 'I'll try,' he promised. 'I don't want him to get hurt any more than you do.'

'Right. Well, I have to go and look at wedding dresses with Mrs Malfoy.' She made a face and James had to laugh, albeit weakly.

'I'll work something out, Hestia, I swear.'

She smiled tiredly, her eyes still red-rimmed from crying.

'I trust you will, James,' she said quietly, before turning and heading down the staircase.

_Reviews, please! (smiles sweetly) One more review to make this my most popular story (in regards to reviews). _

_Each time you review, a small parade is held in your honour!_


	8. Conviction

Short author's note. Must be losing my touch. Oh, and sorry for falling off the fanfic planet for so long. This one's for Gwinna, who requested an update. (of course, I was going to update anyway, but she gave me a reason to hurry up)

This chapter: Melodrama! Angst! Plotting! Werewolves! (Yep, that's right – I've thrown Remus into the mix!) Just your average soap opera plotlines really … er … except for the werewolf.

Disclaimer: Names and characters and etc the creation of JK Rowling. Typos and spelling errors are mine. (P.S in case anyone is wondering, commenting on typos, punctuation and etc. in my stories is NOT constructive criticism. Talk about plot, canon references and character development if you want me to take any notice of criticism. Also, I'm from New Zealand, so my computer uses British spelling checks, and so do I. The English did invent the language after all. (God save the Queen! (LOL) (This rant is in response to some reviews I got for some of my oneshots which … irked me somewhat. I don't mind criticism as long as it has a point to it. Really. I'm a big girl. I can take it.) (There have been a lot of brackets in this disclaimer.) (LOL)

**Chapter the Eighth: Conviction**

_The Leaky Cauldron, later that day …_

'Caradoc.'

'James.'

James ordered a couple of butterbeers before settling into the seat opposite. Caradoc studied him. He didn't like what he was seeing.

When James Potter got that worried look in his eye, it meant that things were no longer going according to plan.

James gave him a tired look.

'What did I tell you about talking to her?' he said with what might have been called a smile, although it did not carry to his eyes. Caradoc sighed.

'I didn't mean to.'

'Uh-huh.' He didn't look convinced. 'I thought it was only Gryffindors who were this reckless?'

'Right, Potter. I'm a fair way off your record, if you don't mind.'

James considered this for a moment. Then he sighed and nodded.

'Actually, that's a fair point,' he conceded. 'All the same, though, she's gone spare as usual.'

'You knew she would, though. And you _did _let me borrow your cloak – I thought I should put it to some use.'

James waved his hand impatiently.

'All right, all right, it's all my own damn fault,' he muttered. 'Look, the point is that she doesn't want you following her anymore.'

'Big surprise,' Caradoc muttered. 'I suppose you're going to tell me to leave her alone, then? That'll be easier for you to handle, will it?'

Caradoc watched as James studied him for a moment. He appeared to be running something over in his mind.

'No matter what I said, you'd still want to check up on her,' he said, almost rhetorically.

Caradoc frowned. 'Of course.'

'And nothing I could say would ever stop you from following her to the St Mungo's charity bash next week?'

'Probably not,' Caradoc agreed slowly, unsure where this was supposed to be going. James smirked at him.

'I've got your number, Dearborn,' he said coyly. 'You tell yourself that you trust me to handle it; but you don't, not really. Not where she's concerned. Well, you don't really trust me full stop, but especially not where Hestia's concerned.'

Caradoc made to brush off this suggestion.

'Of course I trust you, James,' he said carefully – but even as he said it, he wasn't so sure that it was true.

'Bollocks you do,' James muttered, rolling his eyes. 'No one trusts me really, with the possible exception of Dumbledore, Sirius and Lily – and I'm not even all that sure about Lily. And you – you should have been a Gryffindor, Dearborn. You read just like one. No matter what I say, you'll go after her and try to save her, because she's your girl and I'm an unreliable git who pranked you one too many times when we were at school.'

Caradoc stared at him. There was little point in denying it – everything James had said was pretty much true.

'You're wondering how I figured all this out.' James grinned. 'Well, it's obvious, isn't it? You're in love with her. You always were – even when you weren't, and before you ask me how that can possibly work I suggest you think it over because you know that it's true. And you'll follow her to the ends of the earth, no matter what an idiot like me tries to do to stop you. You know it. I know it. I'd do the same for Lily. Despite what you may have heard, Dearborn, I'm not an idiot. And if there's no point in trying to keep you away from her, I'll be buggered if I'm going to waste my energy on it.'

Caradoc leaned back in his seat. He supposed that after all this time he should have realised if there was one thing about James Potter that was predictable, it was his unique knack for reading the situation.

'Thank you, James,' he said quietly, privately impressed at the way James, whom he had never exactly been close to, could express so simply a set of circumstances which he himself had only just begun to grasp after nearly five years. It wasn't even that they knew each other particularly well – they didn't – but James, with his unexpected yet uncanny insights, had laid it all out so perfectly that Caradoc had to wonder for a moment what else his old friend had figured out about his private thoughts.

'Don't thank me just yet,' James sighed. 'There's something you should know about Hestia.'

'What?'

Caradoc leaned in. James glanced about quickly.

'Listen mate, it's very important that you realise why –'

'James!'

Remus Lupin was striding across the bar. There was a stricken look in his eyes that caused both James and Caradoc to jump to their feet.

'What is it?' James demanded.

'It's Lily,' Lupin gasped, grabbing James's arm. 'You've got to come, James – I tried to do something but I … I just …'

James went pale.

'Is she all right?' he asked, in a hoarse voice that was not his own. 'Moony, tell me that she's all right –'

Lupin shook his head quickly. 'No, it's not like that – just go home, and quickly, before she does something stupid! I tried to tell her, I did, but she won't listen to me. You've got to explain it to her, James!'

James's eyes were wide behind his glasses. 'Merlin's beard,' he said wearily. 'What has that woman got into her head this time?'

_An hour earlier, at the London townhouse of Lily and James Potter …_

'James? Lily?'

Remus shrugged off his cloak and hung it on the hat stand. It wasn't like either of his friends to leave the front door unguarded, which left him feeling very nervous. However, there had been nothing so far to suggest that something terrible had happened, so he wasn't going to panic … not yet anyway …

'James! Are you home? Hello? It's Remus!'

There was a crash upstairs which made him jump. Reaching for his wand, he hesitantly started up the stairs.

'Lily? Is that you?'

There was another crash as he stood on the landing, and some unintelligible muttering. Frowning, he took the last few steps towards the mater bedroom cautiously.

'Lily?'

He pushed open the door to find the room a complete mess. A suitcase lay open on the bed, piled high with various items of clothing which spilled out onto the coverlet. More were being thrown in its general direction by the small red-headed whirlwind currently occupying the closet.

Remus barely had time to take this all in before a pile of shirts was shoved into his arms.

'Good, Remus, you're here. You can help me.'

Remus blinked.

'Lily, are you and James … going somewhere?'

Lily didn't stop her frantic packing for a second.

'I am,' she replied shortly. '_James_ can do whatever he damn well pleases. He does anyway, so I'm sure he'll barely notice that I'm gone.'

Remus tried for a moment to process this but, upon failing at that, tried instead to bring some sense to the conversation.

'Lily, you left the front door unguarded. Are you _trying_ to get yourself killed?'

Lily whipped around instantly, her wand in his face causing him to take a step back.

'You _knew, _didn't you,' she said quietly, dangerously. It wasn't a question. 'You're one of his best friends. Tell me the truth, Remus, or I'll never trust you again.'

The only thing that Remus knew was that he had no idea what she was talking about. Somehow, that didn't stop him from glancing left and right like a guilt-stricken teenager. Lily's face reddened with rage.

'I knew it!' she cried. 'How long? How long has that … that _bastard_ been sneaking around behind my back? How long have you boys been having a good old snigger at my expense, Remus? Huh? Tell me!'

'Lily, for Merlin's sake,' Remus pleaded. 'I've got no idea what you're on about, honest …'

Lily narrowed her brilliant green eyes.

'You're a liar,' she almost hissed. 'All men are liars and you are no exception, Remus Lupin. You think I can't work it out for myself? I'm not stupid, all right? I _saw_ them! I saw him and … and …'

And then, quite unexpectedly (or at least Remus, having had very minimal contact with screaming young women, had not expected it), Lily's face crumpled and she burst into tears. Remus took this pause in her tirade as a chance to come to some sort of conclusion based on her ramblings.

'You're saying that _James_ …'

'How _could_ he?' she gasped, sobbing, as she sank onto the bed. 'I just … I can't … Oh Christ, Remus, what am I going to _do_?'

Remus sat next to her, feeling waves of shock course through him. With all that was going on in the world he just couldn't believe that James would do something so _stupid_ – and it was stupid, it was ridiculous, because he knew for a fact how James felt about Lily, he'd always known, just as they all had …

'I can't believe it,' he said to her. She sniffed, her violent sobs subsiding somewhat.

'Believe it,' she whispered. 'I have the evidence of my own eyes.'

Remus shook his head vehemently.

'There must be an explanation,' he said, laying a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

'Huh,' she muttered. 'How's this for an explanation? I married _James Potter_. Now, what's the one thing we both know about James Potter?'

'Er …'

'The_ chase_, Remus. It's all about the bloody chase.'

'Oh Lily, don't say that, now. Come on. I meant that there must have been some sort of misunderstanding. You can't have seen what you thought you saw. Maybe it wasn't even James!'

Lily shot him a poisonous glare.

'I think I know my own husband, Lupin,' she snapped. Remus noted the renewed use of his surname, something which (he recalled in horror) she hadn't done since the days when she had made a point of rejecting James and anyone associated with him.

'I'm leaving,' she sniffed. 'I'll go and stay with Alice and Frank or something. I'm not staying here to be made a fool of, and I won't stand for his crap anymore. People don't change. It turns out he's just as much of a prat as he ever was – but the thing he hasn't counted on is that I'm still just as stubborn. I'm going.'

And with that she flicked her wand at the suitcase, which promptly snapped itself shut. She snatched it up with the fire of conviction burning in her eyes. Remus made a desperate move to block the door.

'Come on, Lily – there _must_ be an explanation for all this. You _know_ that James absolutely worships the ground you walk on – always has done, in fact – and you can't for one second believe that he'd do something like this to you.'

Lily drew herself up to her full height.

'I'd like to see him talk his way out of this one,' she snarled. 'I _saw_ him. You don't get much more certain than that.'

'Just … just wait 'til he gets home, will you?' Remus begged. 'I'm sure it's all just a misunderstanding, just … you'll see, James would _never …_'

Lily didn't appear convinced. She tried to get past but Remus stayed resolutely in her path.

'Lily, _please_,' he said, trying desperately to catch her eye. 'Please just _listen_. You're angry. You don't want to do something stupid and then later realise that you've made a big mistake, do you? If you're wrong –'

'I'm _not_ wrong,' Lily growled through clenched teeth.

'_If _you're wrong,' Remus repeated, 'you might regret it for the rest of your life. At least _talk _to James before you do this. Please, Lily. I can't bear the thought of you both being miserable because of nothing.'

Lily glared at him for a moment, before throwing her suitcase down on the floor.

'Fine!' she yelled, defeated. 'Fine, Lupin! Have it your way! I'll wait for him to come home and confront him myself. I want to see the look on his face when I storm out, anyway.'

This at least was an improvement, although it was not quite the result that Remus had hoped for. He resolved to leave immediately to find James, who would surely come up with the right thing to say to Lily, as he always did when the pressure was really on.

_Back in the Leaky Cauldron_ …

After James had gone to sort out his own relationship problems – which in Caradoc's opinion was probably fair enough as James was actually married as opposed to pining after a girl who had probably given up on him four years ago – Caradoc sat with his drink for a while, wondering what he was going to do next. It was all very well telling James that he would follow Hestia to the St Mungo's charity thing next week, but there was still the matter of getting an invite since, as everyone knew, tickets to these kind of events sold out at least a month in advance. And the entertainment would be all booked up too, so there wasn't even that option. He tapped the table restlessly as he considered the problem.

The event was attended almost exclusively by the wealthy pureblood families, so far as he knew. It would be almost impossible, he thought ruefully, for a half-blood to get an invite to tag along with any of them in the current climate. Although for the sake of his own personal security he had never publicly shown his support for one side or the other (and thankfully his celebrity was still minor enough that no one bothered to ask him), his heritage was not exactly a secret. And while he knew he did have a small audience within those circles, it wasn't anything to draw much confidence from.

What he needed was an inside contact. Someone who ran in that sort of crowd who could ingratiate him into the society in time for the ball. Someone who would be happy to talk about him in the best possible terms while being even happier to gloss over his illegitimacy.

Someone who, on very little notice, would be thrilled to help him slip into 'proper' pureblood society.

The answer was so obvious that it amazed him how long it had taken to come up with it.

_Meanwhile, somewhere across town …_

'Afternoon, cousin.'

Bellatrix rolled her eyes as she turned.

'Is all the cloak and dagger really necessary, Regulus?' she asked as her young cousin emerged from the shadows, wearing a dark hooded robe. In the shadow made by that hood, she saw his mouth twist in a smirk.

'You tell me, Bella,' he replied. 'From the way you spoke in your letter, it sounds as though you want me to avenge some sort of slight on the family honour. Sounds like a perfect situation for a little cloak and dagger, wouldn't you agree?'

'Hrumph,' Bellatrix grunted, unimpressed.

'Of course, it never has been _your_ style, has it, dear cousin?' Regulus continued, and there was definitely a mocking edge to his tone now that Bellatrix did not appreciate in the slightest.

'If you don't mind, there are more important things at hand,' she snapped, losing her temper. Regulus, who if nothing else at least could recognise the warning signs, quickly dropped his joking attitude.

'Of course, Bella. I will obey your orders as though they came from the Dark Lord himself.'

'That's more like it. Here.' She handed him a white parchment envelope.

'What's this?'

'Your instructions. Don't mess it up, Regulus.'

He inclined his head to her in respect. 'You may rely on me, Bella.'

She sniffed and rolled her eyes again. He carefully slit open the envelope.

'Interesting,' he murmured, as he read the note that had been concealed inside. 'Wasn't she …?'

'Just look into it, and tell me what you find out.' With that, Bellatrix swept off down the alley. Regulus didn't watch her leave – he was still busy consulting the parchment she had handed him. His expression was deeply thoughtful.

'Very interesting,' he murmured again, frowning as he disapparated.

_In that same instant, James Potter appeared in the front hall of his house …_

The crack from his apparition caused the redheaded figure sitting on the staircase to jump visibly. But Lily recovered herself quickly, pulling herself to her feet and greeting her husband with an imperious stare.

'Bloody hell, Lily,' he said weakly. 'You're not seriously considering this, are you?'

'Oh, it's already done,' she told him. 'You didn't think I would stick around, did you?'

She picked up her suitcase and headed for the door. James moved quickly to stop her.

'Lily, I don't know what evidence you think you have for this, but I swear I have never so much as _thought_ about being unfaithful to you. If you walk out that door, you will be making the biggest mistake of your life.'

She turned her most potent glare on him and he wondered for a second why all the women in his life were always scowling at him as though they would like to murder him with their eyes.

'Well, then?'

'What?'

'_Explain_,' she said in a dangerously quiet voice. 'When did you plan on telling me that you were meeting Hestia Jones in secret?'

'Hestia?' James felt a wave of relief – even though of course he knew that he was innocent, it was nice to know that he could prove it. He smiled – or at least he would have done, had Lily not been looking at him like that. 'You can't seriously think – I mean, yes, I'm helping her out; or at least trying to … she's like my little sister though, you've got to believe me!'

Lily set her jaw.

'Not good enough,' she said, pushing him out of the way.

'Lily, come on, you have to trust me!' James pleaded.

She stopped with her hand on the door handle.

'Why should I trust you?' she demanded. 'You never change, do you James? If there's really nothing going on, you would have told me that you were meeting her!'

'All right, now you're just being stubborn,' James accused, his temper rising. 'I didn't tell you because what Hestia is doing is dangerous, and I wanted to protect you!'

'Oh, that's a load of crap, Potter, and you know it!' she yelled. 'If you think I'm falling for that one, you're seriously mistaken! You always were a terrible liar,' she added with a sneer.

James could feel that the argument was completely out of his control, and that made him frustrated. No matter what he said, it seemed that Lily would never believe him.

'You're being ridiculous,' he told her, giving up trying to convince her. 'I can't believe that you won't trust me, after all this time! Why would I lie to you, Lily? Surely you know me well enough at this point to realise that I would never do something like this?'

'I'm not sure what I know anymore,' she said quietly.

There was a pause.

James stared at her, hardly believing the situation himself.

'Is there anything I can say?' he asked, dreading the answer he knew was coming.

Lily shook her head sadly.

'I don't think there is,' she replied.

And with that, she was gone.

_The next day, in the Ministry of Magic …_

'I've been thinking about what you said.'

'I'm glad, son.'

Caradoc sighed. He felt sickened with himself.

'I wanted to apologise for my … reaction the other day. I realise now that you only had my best interests at heart.'

'Don't mention it.' Edward was visibly relieved.

'I thought that perhaps you might … give me a hand,' Caradoc winced internally at the thought of asking his father for help, something he had avoided as much as possible thus far in his life. 'I need a way to … to show … how do I put this? I want to know as much as possible before I make a decision, to talk to some people who know … but I need an introduction.'

Edward smiled at his son. 'I think we can arrange something.'

The next bit had to be handled carefully.

'I … er … heard there was a charity ball next week?'

Edward considered this.

'Well, that seems like an ideal solution,' he agreed happily. Caradoc was amazed by his own manipulative power.

'Of course, I don't have a ticket,' he apologized. Edward brushed the comment aside with a dismissive wave of his hand.

'I have my fair share of contacts, Caradoc, don't you worry about that,' he said. 'I'm sure I can scrounge one up from somewhere. Are you quite sure that this is what you want, though?'

Caradoc took a deep breath and nodded. 'Yes, I think so. It's for the best, after all.'

Edward smiled.

'It is,' he agreed. 'I'm so glad you think so.'

Caradoc supposed he should have known that it really would be that easy. After all, his father had been waiting for him to step up and take his heritage seriously for some time now, and was always quick to accept things when they appeared to go his way. Caradoc knew that, despite whatever differences they might have had in the past, Edward did indeed believe that he had his son's best interests at heart.

The trouble with Edward had always been his concern with appearances. This time, however, it seemed that Caradoc had finally come up with a way to turn his father's flaws to his advantage.

Yes, Edward's enthusiasm for the plan was only to be expected. And for now at least, it looked like nothing could go wrong. But Caradoc had a gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach that this whole thing could only end in tears.

Not that he could have stopped it now, even if he had wanted to.


	9. Dangerous Games

The wait is over! The writer's block has once again been conquered!

This chapter: Celestina Warbeck! Benjy Fenwick! (You know I love obscure canon.) Marauder fun! Copious amounts of alcohol! And what's this about Reggie, you ask? Well, maybe it has a lot to do with the fact that I LOVE HIM LIKE OMG.

This chapter, like all my chapters, is dedicated to my lovely reviewers. Cheers you lot! Keep reading! Oh! And do you remember that book Caradoc found in the Restricted Section a couple of chapters ago? (no, you say, because you take so long with your updates …) Anyway, let's bring that back, because it's reasonably important to the ending.

As for my other stories (i.e: 'Up to no Good', 'One Black Sheep' and 'Of Black Sheep and Werewolves') all I can say is – I'm sorry guys. I try to write as much as I can – more than I should, really – but school does come first. Or, at least, it should. Erm … I will try.

Disclaimer: Obviously, it's all JK Rowling. My own characters would _never_ be this angsty. (Well, all right. They are angsty a little.)

**Chapter the Ninth: Dangerous Games**

_Spellbound:__ The tale of a Wizard lost within his own magic._

_Friend, beware, take heed of my tale,_

_Learn from mistakes, succeed where I fail._

_When life overwhelms you, remember my fate._

_When your love deserts you, it isn't too late._

There are many myths about love.

And who knows? I can only vouch for my own experience. I know nothing of love at first sight, or butterflies in the stomach, or being struck by lightning. It may happen to others – it did not happen to me.

Love for me happened over time, and each moment I live I fall more deeply still. It is a hopeless situation, a completely helpless desire, an animal instinct. I cannot pinpoint a moment when I began that fall, so slow was it at first. By the time I realised how deeply I was involved, I was falling with far too much momentum to even see the top of the precipice.

There is a hopelessly romantic school of thought that will tell you that there is one person out there that you will fall in love with, and if you find that one person, they will automatically love you back. I mean, if you really love someone then they should just love you back, without question. Popular culture makes it out that who you will love is biologically programmed and what's more, you and your true love will be perfectly matched, emotion for emotion.

All I can say is, don't be fooled.

There is nothing to say that someone you love very much has to love you in return. If you see someone and you love them and you know that your life will only be complete so long as they are in it, there is no obligation on their part to feel any of that at all.

What was I to her? Nothing. Dirt. Worse than dirt. If I could have fallen in love with any other, I would have. If just one woman could have measured up to her in my eyes, then that would have been it. But no. It was her, and only her. The love of my life, and my downfall.

This is a cautionary tale – but I cannot caution against falling in love. I can only warn of the dangers of acting rashly while under love's influence. For falling in love, there is no cure, no spell that can rid you of the emotion. No potion to soothe its symptoms. You are left alone, helpless and adrift. But better to be adrift than not to exist at all.

I write this from a place where no one will find me. If I can prevent just one reader from repeating my mistake, then I shall succeed.

Her name was Melania McMillan.

_Now back to our not-so-regularly scheduled melodrama!_

_1978, November 23__rd__. The St Mungo's charity ball is in full swing, and of course Edward Dearborn and his son have contrived to be fashionably late …_

Caradoc eyed the assorted company warily. Edward had already merged seamlessly into the crowd, chatting with old acquaintances near the buffet table with a kind of indecent joviality which seemed to defy the very idea that there was a war going on outside the walls of the party. Caradoc was uncertain as to how he should behave. He tugged uncertainly on the cuffs of his unfamiliar dress robes.

He could feel whispers rippling through the partygoers – and not for the first time, he cursed his famous face, which never allowed him to go anywhere unnoticed. What he wouldn't give for James's invisibility cloak tonight! But James had remained stubbornly distant for the past week and besides, Caradoc had heard that Frank Longbottom was on some sort of mission tonight, so the cloak was probably being put to more urgent use.

Still, he thought ruefully, it might have been nicer to do this whole thing undercover.

He wandered towards his father, catching scattered fragments of conversations as he passed.

'Well of course we considered moving him, I mean that Dumbledore …'

'… and I told her, I said, it's just not smart, considering the current …'

'… oh, there he goes! That piano boy, remember? I wonder if he's playing tonight.'

Sighing, Caradoc came up behind Edward and tried to slip surreptitiously into the group. But it seemed he was doomed to be conspicuous tonight.

'Caradoc!' Edward beamed, an empty wine glass in his hand. 'Gentlemen, you know my son of course.'

The men Edward was conversing with nodded politely, trying to show as little interest as formality would allow. One, a stuffy looking wizard with a squint that was highly distracting, cleared his throat.

'Will you be playing for us tonight, young man?' he asked in a snooty voice. Caradoc shook his head.

'No, sir. I'm strictly civilian tonight.'

A few of Edward's colleagues chuckled appreciatively – Edward himself took a moment to process his son's comment before sharing in the laughter of his companions.

'Yes,' Edward agreed, placing a hand on Caradoc's shoulder. 'Caradoc is the Dearborn heir tonight, rather than a celebrity.'

There was an awkward pause, in which Caradoc felt mildly uncomfortable. After all, Edward seemed so _proud_ – an unusual occurrence, to say the least – and even though Caradoc was here for a good cause, it was still a little distressing that he could use his father in this way. Trying to shake off the feeling by repeating his father's past offences in his head, he motioned to the empty wine glass.

'Another drink?'

'Oh yes. Thank you, son.'

Caradoc took the glass and took his leave gratefully, planning to take his time at the bar.

'A refill of the goblin-made wine,' he said to the young witch who was serving drinks, as he handed her Edward's glass. 'And a Firewhiskey too, if you don't mind.'

The girl nodded and set about her task. Caradoc sighed and leaned against the sticky surface of the bar, trying as best he could to pretend that he didn't see the eyes of many of the women nearby trained quite obviously in his direction. When a squat tumbler of amber liquid was placed in front of him he took a large mouthful – and promptly screwed up his face in protest as the Firewhiskey burned his throat.

'Caradoc! _Darh_-ling!'

Wincing, Caradoc signalled to the girl behind the bar to top up his glass. An arm somehow wound its way into the crook of his elbow and he turned to meet a curvy black woman with a wide, lipsticky smile and sequined robes which blinded him when she moved.

'Celestina,' he said, with something that he hoped resembled a smile. 'Lovely to see you. I didn't know you would be here tonight.'

'Of course I am, silly,' laughed Celestina Warbeck. 'I'm very big on charities. I'm actually thinking of recording a song and letting all proceeds go to the hospital …'

Caradoc extracted his arm from her grip as politely as he could.

'That sounds … er … very nice, Celestina,' he said, reaching once again for the Firewhiskey. It was going to be a long night.

'You know, your people still haven't gotten back to mine in regards to that duet, darling,' she pouted a little. 'You did _say_ you'd talk it over with them, and you know we're both so popular at the moment, it's sure to go down a treat.'

_Much like a third glass of Firewhiskey_, Caradoc thought, downing what remained in his glass, which seemed to slide down a lot more easily after a few mouthfuls. He placed the glass back on the bar and nodded at the witch again.

'Actually, Celestina, I …'

'It's all about marketing, darling,' Celestina said, stepping closer and causing Caradoc to move backwards involuntarily. 'It's what the public wants. I mean, let's face it, it wouldn't _hurt_ your career, would it now? Perhaps – I mean, let's be realistic about this for a second, darling – perhaps it could even _help_ you somewhat.'

Caradoc blinked.

'Er …'

Celestina was leaning quite close to him now, so that he could see his own startled face reflected in the jewels clinging to her false eyelashes. She placed a hand whose nails were covered in sparkling polish on his chest.

'Come now, darling, you're being frightfully unreasonable about this,' she stated in sulky tones. 'I promise you, it would definitely be worth your while to work with me.'

There was a look in her eyes that completely threw him off balance – and not in a good way. He swallowed forcefully.

'Er … um …'

The witch behind the bar fortunately chose that moment to hand Caradoc his drink – through sheer nerves and a complete lack of coordination under pressure, his grip on the glass was all but non-existent, and its contents ended up splashing down the front of Celestina's sequined robes.

There was a moment of complete stunned silence.

Then Celestina began to scream bloody murder over her ruined dress, and as people rushed forward to help her, Caradoc chose his moment to slip away. Scooping up his father's drink, he merged back into the crowd.

And came face to face with Hestia.

_T__wenty minutes earlier, Lucius Malfoy and his fiancée, Hestia Jones, arrive on the scene …_

Hestia sighed. It would be another one of _those_ nights.

Narcissa Black caught her eye and smirked. Hestia responded with a glare. Regulus Black, younger cousin to Narcissa, was also accompanying their party; and Hestia noted that he was watching the exchange between the two women while Lucius bowed graciously to Millicent Bagnold, the ageing Minister for Magic.

'Something to say, Regulus?' Hestia inquired icily. Regulus smirked in a way that was spookily reminiscent of his older brother.

'Only that you look lovely as ever, Hestia,' he replied smoothly, inclining his head and earning himself a deathly glare from Narcissa.

'I thought that might be it,' Hestia sniffed; but as their eyes caught, there was a glimmer of understanding. Something about Regulus made her want to smile – perhaps it was the resemblance to his brother, or the thinly-veiled amusement evident whenever he made a snide remark. There was no doubt that the youngest member of the Black clan was very clever, and cunning (a true Slytherin if there ever was one), but there was something about him that, while it was not precisely trustworthy (for in truth Hestia had never met a trustworthy Black in all her association with the family), made him seem like he was simply laughing at his family behind their collective back.

This was a quality with which Hestia felt she could be entirely sympathetic. In her opinion, it was an excellent way to deal with the situation.

'Madame Bagnold, I believe you know my fiancée? Hestia Jones?' Lucius introduced, pushing Hestia forward to greet the Minister. Millicent Bagnold was an elderly woman, close to Hestia herself in height and relying heavily on a gnarled cane to hold herself upright. Hestia curtseyed respectfully.

'Ah yes. I knew your father some years back,' the Minister replied. Hestia nodded graciously in acknowledgement of the fact, while inside it pained her to think of her father. It had been years since she'd seen either of her parents, or any of her four brothers – and every time they were spoken of it nearly killed her to think that it might be even longer before she could see them again. Malfoy's heavy hand on her waist only compounded her feeling of wretchedness.

'I congratulate you on your upcoming marriage, Lucius,' Bagnold said with a smile which nearly caused Hestia to retch. She wanted to scream. _Death Eater! He's a Death Eater!_

But she didn't. Perfectly composed, she lightly touched Malfoy's arm to attract his attention.

'I'll go and get some drinks, shall I?' He nodded and released her from his grasp, allowing her to slip off into the crowd. She skirted the edges of the ballroom, her dark eyes always watching for familiar faces, and those she would have to avoid. Her heart skipped a few beats every time she caught a glimpse of sandy-coloured hair, and she had to fight desperately to calm her nerves.

_What if he turned up here …tonight?__ What would she say if he did?_

_How could she live if he didn't?_

She was so busy scanning the outer reaches of the room that she didn't notice the figure coming up right beside her.

'Hestia? Hestia Jones?'

She winced.

'Fenwick,' she acknowledged with a curt nod of the head. The freckled face of Benjy Fenwick was split with a wide, wholly inappropriate grin.

'Merlin, it's been years! How are you?'

'Oh … well enough,' she said evasively, searching for an escape.

'I heard you got engaged!'

'You and everyone else in the wizarding world,' she muttered, rolling her eyes. Fenwick laughed.

'You know, it's such a funny thing, but I was thinking about you just the other week,' he said, his blue eyes twinkling. 'I had Caradoc Dearborn on my show, and -'

Hestia turned her head sharply. Fenwick carried on, blissfully oblivious.

'- of course I remembered how close you two used to be. I had to laugh, thinking of how everyone just assumed you were going out, even though you said countless times that you weren't.'

Hestia took a deep breath to steady herself.

'Ah yes, those were the days,' she said with as much enthusiasm as she could muster. 'If you'll excuse me, I've just seen …'

And with a movement that was almost serpentine in its execution, she slipped back into the crowd, furious that she had been so lost in her thoughts as to allow Benjy Fenwick to catch her arm. Not that his presence was any more objectionable than the company she usually kept, but somehow his connection to her past life made it seem that way.

Perhaps a part of it was that she knew she had used him terribly, after the _incident_ with Caradoc. She wasn't normally the kind of girl to do such a thing as go out with one boy to make another jealous, and it was sickening to think that she had done that to Benjy, who despite his faults was really a good sort. In a completely annoying way. The only good thing that could be said about their 'relationship' was that it had been mercifully short.

She headed for the bar but was nearly knocked over as someone pushed past, rushing towards the shrill scream of a woman.

'They're ruined! These are designer robes!'

Hestia paused, wondering if she shouldn't put off getting drinks until the hysterical woman had been calmed.

Someone pushed through the crowd in front of her, coming up short a few feet away. They stared at each other.

'Hestia,' Caradoc murmured, as though without thinking it. Hestia felt the floor drop away from under her.

_Meanwhile, in Hogsmeade, the Three Broomsticks__ plays host to a reunion … of sorts._

'Bit like old times, this,' Sirius Black noted dully, as the four friends sat at the bar. James Potter was slumped over his ninth glass of Firewhiskey, and hadn't spoken since they'd arrived. Remus Lupin was still on his first glass, mulling over it like he always did, and Peter Pettigrew was seated next to James, nursing a bottle of butterbeer.

No one said anything for a few minutes.

'How d'you figure, Sirius?' Remus sighed finally, seeing as no one else was keen to break the silence. Sirius took a sip of his drink before deciding to explain himself.

'Well,' he said slowly, as though he was trying to delay the inevitable awkwardness of the silence for as long as possible, 'just that it's been a while since we've all been here, isn't it? Just like back at school.' He smiled a little. 'Not much has changed, has it boys?'

Remus rolled his eyes.

'I'm not so sure about that.'

'Oh, come on. Look at us, for Merlin's sake! Peter's checking Rosemerta out-'

'I'm not!' Peter cried hastily.

'You are, Pete,' Sirius said, his grin more pronounced. 'You're staring at her like a love struck teenager – and don't get me wrong, I'm not judging, it all adds to the spirit of nostalgia.' Peter made a huffing noise and went back to his drink. Sirius chuckled and glanced at Remus.

'You're still on your first glass … just like old times.'

Remus acknowledged the fact with a nod. He had never been much of a drinker – he was far too afraid to mix his lycanthropy with copious amounts of alcohol.

'That blonde in the corner is giving me the eye,' Sirius continued, glancing once over his shoulder and earning a half-hearted swipe from Remus. 'So you see, it's just like the old days when we would sneak out of school to cheer Jamie up after Evans blew her stack.'

James raised his head groggily.

'Her name's Potter,' he slurred. Sirius rolled his eyes.

'Just go back to your drink, Prongs,' he said wearily. 'You're ruining the moment.'

James slumped back onto the table.

'How many of those has he had, anyway?' Remus asked concernedly.

'At least he's not spending all his time sending letters to her or pacing the kitchen, like he has been ever since she left,' Sirius shrugged, knocking back what remained in his glass. James groaned some incoherent reply.

'I said that you should give her some space, didn't I?' said Sirius. 'You've only made things worse. Best thing you can do now is let her get over it. Just like back at school – she wouldn't pay any attention to you until you let her alone, remember?'

'But we're NOT at school anymore, Sirius!' James moaned, raising his head slightly. 'She's my wife, for Merlin's sake! I should … I should …'

'You should have another drink,' Sirius told him firmly, signalling Rosemerta over. 'Two more glasses, Rosemerta!'

'Don't you think he's had enough?' Rosemerta asked as she eyed James, who was swaying a little in his seat. Sirius glanced at his best friend with a calculating frown.

'Not even close,' he decided.

Rosemerta shrugged and complied. Remus took another sip of his drink and cringed at the acrid taste. He placed the glass back down on the bar and turned instead to Sirius.

'I'm not sure I agree with your methods, Sirius,' he said worriedly. Sirius shot him a grin.

'Trust me, Moony. Alcohol is his friend at this stage. He'll thank me for it … probably not tomorrow, but at least in a couple of weeks.'

James fell forward onto the bar. Sirius reached over and patted his friend on the back. James groaned unintelligibly.

'It's all right mate, it's all part of the healing process,' Sirius said consolingly. Remus just shook his head and decided to go back to his drink.

_And so, back at the St Mungo's shindig …_

Caradoc faltered a little; whether from the shock of seeing her or the alcohol, he wasn't sure. She stared back at him.

'Hestia,' he murmured, almost without thinking it.

The crowd swelled and twittered around them. But where they stood, time paused.

Hestia swallowed.

'I told you not to follow me.'

He shouldn't have been able to hear her, her voice was so quiet. The chatter of the people nearly should have drowned her out easily. But somehow he heard her as clearly as though the room had been silent.

'I couldn't do it,' he replied, just as quietly as she had spoken. He knew from the look on her face that she had heard him also.

There was another painful pause.

She took a calming breath and then walked past him, pausing for just a moment at his right shoulder.

'Please, Caradoc. Leave while you still can.'

And with that, she assimilated herself back into the crowd. He stood perfectly still for a moment, trying to control the dizzy feeling which he could not entirely attribute to the Firewhiskey he had consumed. Something stirred inside him and he suddenly knew he could not let her get away so easily.

She was standing a few feet away from the bar; waiting patiently while a slightly hysterical Celestina Warbeck was led away by a handful of minders. Caradoc came up beside her, pretending not to notice the way the muscles tensed under her pale skin.

'The time where I could turn away from this has long past, and I think you know it too,' he said. She sighed.

'We shouldn't be talking here,' she said, purposely looking everywhere but at his face. He glanced around and saw Benjy Fenwick eyeing their conversation curiously.

'Where do you suggest, then?' he asked. She bit her lip. There was a long pause, in which he thought she might be trying to ignore him to get him to leave her alone. However, after a few minutes she spoke again.

'There's a stage over there. Meet me behind it in ten minutes. Firewhiskey and a Gillywater, please,' she added in a louder voice to the barmaid. Caradoc offered her a small smile.

'Thank you,' he said quietly.

Hestia took the drinks that were handed to her, nodded frostily at Caradoc, and then headed back to her party. Caradoc sighed and wandered off to the side of the room; hoping that for the next ten minutes at least, he would be able to avoid notice.

_Ten minutes later …_

'I'll be back in a moment,' Hestia said to Regulus, as Lucius was ignoring her in favour of another boring Ministry official. Regulus nodded as she left, but she didn't notice his grey eyes narrow with suspicion as she slipped away.

She moved towards the stage, glancing around for curious eyes before stepping into the shadow of a corridor and disappearing from view. She walked quickly along the opulently furnished hall, ignoring the curious looks from gilded portraits as she passed. Her footsteps were muffled by thick red carpet.

Hearing a noise, she turned, but there was no one there.

'Caradoc?' she called, as loudly as she dared. There was no answer. Her heart beat wildly in her chest. What was she doing, anyway?

'Dearborn, if you're there …' she said warningly, her eyes darting around the corridor. The walls were covered with velvet curtains which could easily conceal a man, and the candlelight which illuminated the hall cast deep flickering shadows which tricked the eye into seeing movement everywhere. She shivered.

She spun around at the definite tread of someone approaching. She sighed with relief when she saw it was Caradoc.

'Hestia, I …'

'Not here,' she said quickly, with a frown. 'I've just realised – come on.' She yanked open a door on her right and ushered Caradoc into the room beyond.

'Er … Hestia, if someone comes in …'

'They won't,' Hestia muttered as she shut the door, sending the room – a low-ceilinged, shabbily furnished parlour which looked as though it might be under the stage – into darkness. She pulled out her wand and locked them in, and then murmured '_Lumos_' so that she could see Caradoc's face.

They stared at each other for a moment, much like they had done every other time they had found themselves face to face. Hestia felt the weakness and the feeling of complete hopelessness that she had come to associate exclusively with the young man before her – the feeling that she could only find in his familiar eyes and face. She could not say how long she stood there, lost; but after a while it dawned on her that she was not achieving anything by simply staring.

She drew herself up to her full - although not considerable - height, and forced all the emotion out of her voice.

'So?'

Caradoc frowned in confusion.

'What?' he asked.

'What do you intend to do? Am I to assume that you're _trying_ to get yourself killed on my account?'

He didn't even flinch.

'If that's what it takes.'

She fought to keep her balance – all her careful self-control was failing her.

'Don't be stupid,' she blustered, turning away to examine the torn upholstery on the armchairs, in a futile attempt to retain her composure. She could still feel his eyes on her, though.

'I'm not being stupid,' he insisted. 'I made the mistake of not paying enough attention to you once before and it cost me your friendship. I couldn't live with myself if it cost your life.'

Hestia closed her eyes. _Don't cry, don't cry ... how will you explain to Malfoy and the rest if you cry … _

'My life doesn't matter that much,' she said quietly, all her energy going into fighting her tears.

A gentle hand landed on her shoulder and pulled her around. She opened her eyes and found herself staring straight into his.

'It does to me,' he said, his deep voice somehow seeming to steal her breath from her lungs. The hand not grasping her wand reached out for something solid to hold onto and found the front of his robes. She grasped him tightly, purely to stop herself from falling to her knees.

'Caradoc, I can't do this,' she whispered.

'Can't do what?'

'_This_,' she said desperately. 'My life depends on my ability to pretend and I _can't_. I can't do it if you're around. Every time I see you I put myself in danger, every time you're near I can feel it, and now I know you're following me I'm looking for you around every corner. For Merlin's sake, Caradoc, I love you and I can't – '

'What?'

She stared at him in horror. She shook her head.

'You said …'

'I didn't,' she said quickly. 'I have to go.'

She pulled away and went to the door. But she was called back before she could reach it.

'Stop.'

And she did, because it seemed impossible that she could even think of doing anything else.

'Don't go. You can't just tell me that you love me and then leave straight away. You can't.'

'I have to,' she whispered, and she left as quickly as she could, hoping that he would not pull her back again because she simply couldn't stand it.

From the shadows of the curtains that covered the walls of the corridor, a pair of dark eyes watched as Hestia left the room, walking at a pace that could almost be described as a run. A few moments later, Caradoc Dearborn followed, looking shaken and in good need of a drink.

An eyebrow was raised.

'Interesting,' murmured a soft, aristocratic voice.

_I'm so sorry it takes me so long to update! I'll try harder, I promise!_


End file.
